The gaoler’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“May I see his stuff?” Delincas translated and sighed.
“Oh, sure,” said the man behind the counter. “Just a moment.”
The gaoler hurried away, exiting through the doorway behind him. Delincas made a mental note to ask King Edward about the prerequisites for gaining employment in the dungeons. True Knights of Superius couldn’t be spared for every little chore—especially at a time when rebellion was spreading across the realm—but by Delincas’s estimation, there was no reason to scrape the bottom of the barrel just yet.
As he waited for the gaoler’s return, he peered through a gate of old, rusty bars. He had never before entered the dungeons proper and was a bit unnerved at the prospect. While King Edward had made use of his expertise in matters arcane in the past, including handling prisoners who could cast spells, the captives had always been brought to him, and not the other way around.
By personally inquiring about the midge, Delincas knew he was lending credence to the rumors that he himself was a wizard, but that could not be helped. The king was too busy to embark on what could very well end up being a fool’s errand. The Renegades were growing bolder by the day, and there were reports of mysterious naval attacks along the coast of West Cape.
To top it off, Prince Eliot, Edward’s only son, was missing.
Delincas was doing his best to help the king—to help all of Continae—in small ways, but when it came to his magic, small feats were all he could do, unless he wanted to compromise his secret agenda.
Some of the more open-minded citizens might welcome the idea of a wizard serving on the King of Superius’s staff, but neither Edward nor Delincas believed the majority would feel that way. For the meantime, Delincas was forced to keep a low profile.
With so much going wrong all at once, he hadn’t bothered to tell the king about the midge captive. It might all end up being nothing. And yet, a single word in a Knight’s retelling of the little wizard’s capture—overheard by sheer chance—had given him pause.
Goblins…
Delincas snapped back to the present at the gaoler’s return. The man carried a deep burlap sack in one hand and what appeared to be a straw hat in the other. He held the sack out in front of him, his hold tenuous. He then plopped both hat and pack on the countertop and wiped his grubby hands on his pants.
“There you go, Ambassador.”
Ignoring the unusual hat, Delincas reached into the sack. The gaoler took a big step back.
The first thing he discovered was a short staff crafted of a reddish wood and capped with a gleaming blue jewel. He could feel magic emanating from the gem. It was invested with strong spells, though he didn’t know which ones.
He withdrew a belt next, followed by a small knife, and a number of pouches and vials. The gaoler took another step back when Delincas started examining the contents of the pouches. Some of the spell components he recognized; others, he did not. From the ingredients he did know—ash, bitzmah root, and shards of obsidian—he deduced the midge in question was a caster of black magic, the most destructive kind of magic.
But he wasn’t prepared to write the midge off as an assassin based on that fact. Not every black-robe was a villain, and in the case of midge—who were known to choose their affiliation as impulsively as they did everything else—there was little difference in the temperaments of white-, red-, and black-robes.
He found several scrolls rolled up inside a leather satchel. He was curious about the spells written upon them but didn’t look too closely. The gaoler was still watching him warily. He was about to return the scrolls to satchel when his gaze caught some writing that was decidedly not magical in nature.
Delincas unfolded the paper, his eyes quickly scanning its contents.
To His Majesty, the King of Superius:
Please forgive the unorthodox delivery of this letter, but given the circumstances, adherence to protocol and tradition was impossible. The midge before you, Noel, is a trustworthy ally, having proven himself a loyal and just subject of the Crown of Superius.
Let it be known that a foreign nation has invaded the island province of Capricon. As I write this, Fort Valor lies in ruin. I have taken refuge at Fort Faith. We know nothing of the state of the rest of the island, but we fear the worst.
The invaders are believed to be goblins, and all evidence leads toward a single conclusion—the goblins intend to conquer Capricon. It is my belief that Superius and the other kingdoms of the Continent United are also in peril. I write this in hopes that you will not be caught unawares.
And it is with great sorrow that I report the following news: a goblin shaman came to Capricon masquerading as your son. His magic was ultimately foiled, but we do not know the location of Prince Eliot Borrom. We pray that he is safe with you, though the goblins claim to have taken him captive.
Rest assured that we, the defenders of Capricon, will do all we can to repel the goblin forces from the island.
Yours in loyalty and service,
Commander Stannel Caelan Bismarc
Gooseflesh rose beneath his coat and doublet. Carefully, he folded the parchment and tucked it in his vest pocket. He glanced up at the gaoler, careful to keep his expression neutral.
“I will see the midge now.”
“Uh…yeah…of course…but he’s in no condition to talk…if you know what I mean.”
Delincas felt his face flush, and he nearly lost control of his temper. He took some solace in the fact that the gaoler was not referring to torture. The Knights of Superius had devised another method for rendering wizards powerless…
“Take me to him,” Delincas ordered.
The gaoler shrugged, lifted a section of the counter and positioned himself between Delincas and the barred gate. He removed a ring of keys from his wide belt and fitted the correct one into the hole. With a great shove, the door creaked nosily open.
“Follow me, Ambassador.”
Delincas shadowed the man in silence. Strategically placed torches illuminated stone walls covered in mold and cobwebs. As they neared the cells, offensive odors assaulted his nostrils, but the wizard paid neither them nor the unruly prisoners any mind. His thoughts awhirl, Delincas desperately tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
Unbeknownst to the general populace, Delincas Theta was not the only magus in the service of Superius. Even as Delincas Theta served as Superius’s ambassador to the Assembly of Magic, another wizard lent his skills to the Knights.
Master Shek Irenistan, a red-robe, currently resided at Fort Miloásterôn in Capricon. The wizard had magically contacted Delincas more than three weeks ago to report the island was under siege by an unknown menace. Shek had connected with him again a week later, identifying the invaders as goblins.
King Edward had believed the supposed goblins were actually Renegades in disguise, but now Delincas had discovered proof to the contrary…unless the midge was, in fact, a rebel.
When they finally reached the midge’s cell, Delincas was greeted by a sad sight. Noel was sitting hunched in one corner. His bright blue eyes stared up at the ceiling. His head swayed slowly from side to side, drool trailing down his chin.
“Noel,” Delincas said suddenly, startling the gaoler. “Noel!”
At the second, louder call, the midge’s head dropped suddenly, his chin coming to rest against his chest. Slowly, unsteadily, Noel raised his head so that he was staring directly at his visitors. The midge blinked a few times and gurgled, “Avooroorooroo.”
“See,” the gaoler said. “He ain’t gonna make any sense. Not that the little imps ever make sense! We make sure he stays good an’ drugged at all times. Wouldn’t want him to, you know, spout any hocus pocus…”
As though suddenly remembering whom he was speaking to, the gaoler trailed off.
“Let him out.”
The gaoler’s eyes went wide. A tentative smile tugged at the man’s lips, as though he thought Delincas was joking. Then
he frowned.
“Sorry, Ambassador, but I can’t do that, not unless you got an official order from the Knights’ Lord Commander or King Edward hisself.”
Delincas opened his mouth to argue but changed his mind. He knew he would get nowhere trying to reason with the dungeon-keeper. The Knights of Superius were known for their strict protocol, and apparently the gaoler’s current discomfort was nothing compared to the prospect of displeasing the Lord Commander.
“Very well,” Delincas said, turning away from the man and starting back the way they had come. “Keep the midge’s possessions on the counter. I shan’t be long.”
He cast Noel one last pitying look before rushing past the rows of cells and back up the stairs to the surface. He didn’t care that he easily outpaced the confused gaoler. He had far greater things to worry about just then.
If King Edward was wrong about Renegades being behind the attacks in Capricon and West Cape, then all of Continae was in terrible danger. As Delincas hurried through the palace, he prayed that the king was right in spite of this new evidence.
He’d rather see young Eliot Borrom in the hands of rebels than monsters.
* * *
Arthur was covered in blood, most of it his own. Goblin faces, distorted and howling, surrounded him on all sides. He swung a rusty hatchet in wide arcs to keep the fiends at bay. Although the goblins pressed in on him at every turn, his pitiful weapon never connected.
Now and then, he caught a glimpse of the other Renegades. Klye darted about the battlefield with uncanny agility. Horcalus’s movements were measured and polished, sending fountains of black blood into the air. Lilac, Scout, Plake, and the pirates were there too. He even thought he saw Othello.
He shrieked when a pole-axe buried itself in his shoulder. His hatchet fell to the ground, along with most of his arm. He cried for help, hoping one of his friends would hear him over the din of clashing metal and hideous screams.
Rather than finish him off, the goblins taunted him, poking him with their blades, prolonging the kill. At last, one of the monsters hurled a trident at him. The three-pronged javelin homed in on his chest…
Arthur jerked awake. His forehead slick with perspiration, he spent the next few minutes drawing in great gulps of air. He looked around self-consciously, hoping he hadn’t disturbed any of his roommates.
The Renegade Room would have served as a spacious dormitory for the five male Renegades, but they were no longer alone. Some of the men from Hylan and Rydah had taken up residence there. Of the newcomers, Arthur knew only Pillip Bezzrik, the owner of Hylan’s general store, though the name Bly Copperton sounded familiar.
None of the Hylaners seemed to recognize him, for which he was grateful.
Arthur was also thankful Lilac was lodging elsewhere. He had never had much to say to the woman—to any women, for that matter—but now that she knew his secret, he was at a complete loss for words.
At first, he had been ashamed. But she hadn’t looked at him like he was some monster. And, according to Lilac, his parents weren’t angry either. He supposed he should thank her for bringing word from his family. Gods above, he hoped they were still all right.
Arthur lay on this back, staring up into the darkness. Snores and heavy breathing filled the room. He wondered how any of them could sleep soundly. The battle had exhausted him, but he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the goblins’ vile faces.
It wasn’t the first time he had been shaken up by a dream. This new one was decidedly preferable to the reoccurring nightmare that made him relive killing the neighbor boy over and over.
Still, he was embarrassed. Brave Dominic Horcalus would never have been bothered by something so childish as a nightmare. How Arthur wished he could be like the Knights of Superius—so fearless, so strong.
Someone stirred, and Arthur squinted into the darkness. He saw a shape sit up and recognized the silhouette as Klye’s. The Renegade Leader ran a hand through his hair. Aside from that, the man just sat there. Arthur wondered if Klye had had a bad dream too.
Rather than lie back down, Klye rose and crept toward the door, nimbly stepping over the slumbering bodies in his path. Without looking back, the Renegade Leader disappeared into the hall.
Klye might have gone to answer nature’s call, but Arthur had a feeling there was more to it than that. Klye had been tight-lipped ever since the battle. It could be the battle had shaken him up, but Arthur figured it had more to do with the casualties to his band than the goblins lurking beyond the safety of the fortress.
They had been ten when they first arrived at Fort Faith. Now there were but six Renegades left.
Though he had always found the pirates intimidating and unapproachable, he was sorry to see Pistol and Crooker go. And although he had never really talked with Othello, he already missed the forester. The forester had saved his life—all of their lives—on more than one occasion. The band felt incomplete without him.
In truth, they were lucky any of them had left the battlefield alive.
Arthur’s insides clenched at the thought of facing the goblins again. The feeling didn’t linger, however. He was still afraid of the goblins, afraid of dying, but the fear wasn’t as debilitating as before.
He knew that when the time came, he would fight alongside his friends. If he died, he would make Horcalus proud and take as many of the monsters to the grave with him as he could.
Arthur rolled over onto his side and let out a deep breath. He only wished he could see his family one last time. Caitlin had had her eleventh birthday since he’d left. Would his little sister even recognize him?
“If I survive this, I’m going straight home,” he promised. “I have to face what happened…and that it wasn’t my fault.”
A strange calm settle over him. Maybe it was the thought of seeing his family again. Maybe he had just needed to acknowledge that killing Llede had been an accident. Or perhaps the peace came from knowing that even if they all died tomorrow, he would be reunited with his friends in Paradise.
Eventually, Arthur’s eyes drooped closed. When he opened them again, he was confronted with the light of morning. The dreams of war and goblins were a vague memory now, and somehow he knew he would never again see the bully Llede in his dreams again.
Passage II
Tiny snowflakes wandered down from the sky. At first there were only a few, but as the light of predawn colored the eastern sky a rosy hue, the wind picked up, and the flurries fell faster. To the west, great white clouds draped the mountaintops.
Drekk’t could only pray that the snowstorm wouldn’t blow down upon his army.
The frozen precipitation that landed among his soldiers melted upon contact with the ground, which was hard as granite and discolored by the blood of men and goblins alike. The soldiers’ tents had been erected around the corpses of men and goblins, which lay where they had fallen.
If nothing else, Drekk’t thought, the cold will keep the meat from rotting.
The ready supply of food was just about the only good to come out of yesterday’s battle. He had lost hundreds of warriors. If a blizzard came down the mountains, he would lose more.
Already, his soldiers were growing sluggish from the chilly air. Drekk’t could feel the cold seeping into his body like some intoxicant, slowing his blood and his thoughts. But not even a blizzard could have cooled the burning in his breast.
The Emperor’s decree to abandon Capricon echoed mercilessly in his mind, molding his lips into a permanent frown. He was angry with the Emperor for having so little faith in him, and he was still livid over the fact Saerylton Crystalus had bested him in battle. Mostly, though, he was confused as to why he was questioning the Emperor’s decision.
Why should I want to stay a moment longer than necessary? he wondered. The climate was not in the least hospitable, and he had no clear advantage over the enemy. Even the least of his underlings would see the wisdom in retreating, abandoning the entrenched Knights for easier prey.
; Drekk’t had always prided himself on being a brilliant strategist. He could shape a battlefield to his advantage in a matter of minutes, using his army’s assets to rout his foes. A goblin’s enemy was supposed to be a faceless thing—an obstacle, a victim, a meal. And yet, as he walked through the camp, he found himself studying the features of the dead humans, half hoping and half dreading that he would discover Colt among them.
Goblin warriors hurriedly saluted their general as he passed by, but Drekk’t hardly heard their flattery. When one warrior prostrated himself before Drekk’t and swore to personally deliver the midge’s head to him, Drekk’t was momentarily confused. Then he remembered the bounty his lieutenants had placed on the fort’s resident spell-caster.
For a moment, Drekk’t merely stared down at the warrior, whose promise seemed as empty as Drekk’t soul that morning. Perhaps the goblin truly was determined to kill the midge. More likely, he was just trying to win the general’s favor.
Drekk’t brought his foot up in a quick jerk, catching the unprepared goblin under the chin and sending him sprawling on his back. Shock, followed quickly by rage, contorted the warrior’s features. For a moment, Drekk’t expected the goblin to attack him. He would have welcomed it.
Instead, the humbled warrior spat out a tooth and skulked away. Drekk’t paid no heed to the stares and muttering he left in his wake. The more he thought about the peon who had dared block his path, the more he wished he would have slit his throat.
At last, he came upon a tent that rivaled its neighbors in size and quality. The surrounding tents gave this one a wide berth, and the barren ground—empty except for a couple of corpses—resembled a moat around a palace.
Drekk’t paused but a moment before approaching the opening of the tent. There was no telling what fell incantations secured Ay’sek’s dwelling. He very much wanted to barge in like Ay’sek and the Emperor had been intruding on him lately. But this small dose of revenge was not worth putting his life at risk.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 107