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

by David Michael Williams

  How he wished Petton had taken his advice to send the vuudu staff away from the fort. And how he wished he had been able to impress upon everyone just how dangerous the talisman was. None of them, Stannel included, could comprehend the many mysteries of the staff, but Colt had been right to deprive the enemy of its power.

  That Drekk’t was so eager to regain the staff was enough to convince him the Knights should do whatever it took to keep the general from obtaining it. And he had not forgotten the queer look in Opal’s eye when he had found her in the woods with it.

  “He’s dead, but I can bring him back,” she had said.

  The problem with Petton was he could not see beyond the immediate situation. Fort Faith’s new commander had already given up hope, and so he was content to take any small victory he could.

  And because Petton saw himself and his men as doomed, he would unknowingly do great harm to countless others.

  Stannel continued walking, not knowing where he was heading. Lurking beneath his thoughts was the knowledge that if he had not given up his authority, he would have been able to do whatever he wished with the staff. He had had his reasons for stepping down, but in light of recent developments, they all seemed petty and selfish.

  When Stannel realized where his feet had taken him, he was not at all surprised. Although he needed to meditate and seek wisdom from the Great Protector, it seemed he needed the advice of a friend more.

  He entered the infirmary and was greeted by a scene far less distressing than the one he had seen the night of Colt’s return.

  All of the sickroom’s beds were filled, but there were no screams, no smell of blood. The infirmary’s chief healer had brought swift order to the bedlam that followed the wounded into her workplace. Those who still lived owed their survival to Sister Aric and her goddess.

  When their eyes met, Aric’s face brightened. She left the bedside of an unconscious woman and hurried over to him, wrapping him in a hug. They hadn’t had a chance to talk for some time, and Stannel realized now how much he had missed their soul-searching discussions.

  “Are you well?” she asked, stepping back and taking measure of him.

  Stannel examined her in return. Bags under her eyes and unkempt hair served as evidence of late nights and constant work, but aside from that, Aric looked none the worse for her labor. In Stannel’s estimation, the woman looked far more beautiful because of her evident sacrifices.

  “My shoulder is still a bit stiff,” he told her, “but Pintor saw me safely through the battle.”

  Aric’s eyes veritably twinkled as she said, “The Great Protector may have had some help. At least one person was asking Mystel to watch over you Knights.”

  “Then my thanks to the Healing Goddess…and to those who do her work,” Stannel said with a bow.

  Stannel spotted Ruben Zeetan on the far side of the room. He acknowledged Stannel with a shy smile and quickly looked away again, busying himself with smoothing out one patient’s blankets.

  “Ruben has been a true blessing,” Aric said, following Stannel’s gaze. “He is a tireless helper, and I daresay he has a gift for helping the wounded.”

  Stannel suspected Ruben’s diligence had more to do with admiration for Aric than an interest in serving Mystel, but he didn’t voice his suspicions. In the end, it made little difference. Whereas Ruben Zeetan had previously made a living out of robbing people, he was now helping strangers. To Stannel, it mattered not at all that Ruben had found his salvation through loving Sister Aric in lieu of her goddess.

  Aric spoke of what she and her assistant had overcome in the past twenty-four hours. Stannel knew each loss of life affected her more than she let on. Though her faith was strong, Aric could not completely distance herself from death’s toll.

  “The key is to remind yourself that you are not succeeding or failing,” she had told him once. “The gods alone know when and how any of us will die. No man or woman can thwart that destiny.”

  The catch was that no mere mortal could comprehend the deities’ designs. Sister Aric might dedicate an entire day to nursing a man back to health, only to watch him die.

  Likewise, Stannel thought, we Knights could debate for hours about defenses and counterattacks, but if Pintor—in his unlimited wisdom—does not deign to interfere on our behalf, nothing we do will save us in the end.

  “Stannel,” Aric said, her voice quieting some, “there has been talk that you went out to speak with the goblins earlier today. I know you probably can’t talk about the specifics, but can I ask you one thing?”

  Stannel nodded.

  “Is there any hope for us? Any hope at all?”

  If he told her they would all die to a man, the priestess would continue to see to her duties. She would serve Mystel until her last breath was spent. While Stannel’s dark prediction would certainly make the healer sad—self-preservation is a reflex of the living, after all—her faith in Mystel and the gods of good would remain strong until the very end.

  Even so, Stannel was not about to destroy what little optimism Aric harbored.

  “There is always hope, my dear,” Stannel said with a forced smile.

  “It’s that bad, eh?” she replied with a wink.

  Stannel chuckled softly, not knowing what else to say.

  “Is there anything I can do to be of service?” Aric asked.

  “You have done more than your share already.”

  “I wish I could do more. Mystel gives me the power to mend flesh, but some wounds fester far beneath the surface.”

  Stannel raised an eyebrow, not understanding what she was getting at.

  Aric let out a sigh. “I don’t want to trouble you further…because I know you are troubled, Stannel, even though you do your best to conceal it…but I worry about Opal. I don’t know if she has any friends at the fort now that Colt and the dwarf have passed on. I think she is very lonely. Please keep her in your prayers…and say a kind word if you happen upon her.”

  Stannel promised he would, but as he walked away, he began to wonder what good it would do when all was said and done. Unlike Aric, who would labor over a dying man until his soul departed, Stannel was starting to wonder if perhaps it wasn’t worth the effort. They would all be dead soon anyway.

  He shook his head ruefully. Clearly, Petton wasn’t the only one who had given up hope.

  * * *

  Noel squirmed in the long-legged, tall-backed chair, trying to find a comfortable position. Leaning back meant he’d have to stretch his legs out straight or sit cross-legged, both of which would make his feet fall asleep again.

  But sitting at the edge of his seat was beginning to take its toll on his spine. He didn’t want to slouch, but he didn’t have much of a choice after a while. His feet, which seemed miles above the floor, kicked rhythmically at the air.

  He glanced longingly at the fine chalice that rested on the wide armrest beside him. It was empty and had been that way for some time. At first, Noel had enjoyed the throne-like chair, but it was hard to pretend you were a king when you couldn’t even ask for some more water.

  As it was, Noel dared not make a peep. He had promised Delincas Theta he would be on his best behavior. His solemn oath had evoked a skeptical expression from the human wizard.

  Ingrates! Noel silently grumbled.

  He had spent the better part of an hour explaining to the King of Superius—and all of his aides, counselors, advisors, ministers, and chief staff members—why he had come to Castle Borrom. King Edward had had plenty of questions, which Noel had happily answered. But as time went on, he had grown more and more frustrated with the whole situation.

  The impatient humans had interrupted him constantly. When it became clear the monarch and his snooty cronies had no interest in his tale’s many fascinating facets, Noel was tempted to deprive them all of its ending. Didn’t they realize that details were what made the story interesting?

  Across the room, King Edward Borrom III, Ambassador Theta, and the other men spo
ke in hushed tones. Noel knew that they were talking about him as much as his story. Every once in a while, one of the long-bearded men glanced in his direction. Meanwhile, Noel had nothing to do—and nothing to drink.

  Explaining all about Klye and his friends and Colt and his friends and then about Stannel and how Fort Faith had become Fort Valor left Noel’s throat as dry as the Desert Ahuli-Okx. On top of that, his head felt like someone had dropped an anvil on it. He had woken up that morning with a pleasant, fuzzy sensation between his ears—with no memory about the past week—but as the day progressed, the pleasant feeling fizzled out, replaced by a throbbing ache.

  Well, Noel thought, I’ll have a thing or two to say about Superian hospitality if anyone ever asks me!

  He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, someone was prodding him awake. Noel reached for his knife, which wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and then for his spell components, which weren’t there either. After a few blinks, the face of Delincas Theta came into focus, and Noel remembered where he was.

  “It’s time to go,” the wizard told him.

  Looking past the man, Noel saw the room was now empty. The king and his friends had left. None of them had bothered to say goodbye or even a proper thank you.

  Delincas must have discerned his displeasure for he said, “The king is a very busy man, but please accept my gratitude as his own.”

  “From everything I’d heard about King Edward, the founder of the Alliance of Nations, I thought he’d be a friendly guy,” Noel grumbled as he vaulted out of the chair.

  Delincas’s smile tightened. “The king has not been himself lately. First it was the Renegades…and now the goblins. And I’d remind you he was just informed that his only son is likely the goblins’ captive. I daresay the king is holding up very well given the circumstances.”

  Noel smoothed out the wrinkles in his robe and adjusted his hat. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I probably should have said, ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ huh?”

  “You have already done a great service for Superius and Continae,” Delincas replied.

  Noel smiled and decided he liked Delincas Theta.

  Even though the man wore no robes of red to denote his affiliation, Noel knew Delincas got his spells from the goddess Quess. Not only could he feel it, but also he had confirmed it earlier with a question.

  Delincas Theta had been visibly uncomfortable during their conversation about magic, which led Noel to believe he didn’t want everyone to know he was a wizard. He supposed that made sense. After all, Delincas lived in a country swarming with Knights—Knights who were afraid of magic, even if they’d never admit it.

  Noel felt sorry for the human wizard and wondered why Delincas didn’t just leave Superius and head to neighboring Ristidae, which was, generally speaking, a more tolerant country. Though it seemed to Noel he had only just arrived in Superius, he was certainly ready to leave.

  “You’ll have to say goodbye to King Edward for me,” Noel told Delincas. “Or, if you want, you can come back to Fort Valor with me. My friends will need all the help they can get if more shamans show up.”

  Delincas’s smile faded as he looked down to the floor. “I’m sorry, Noel, but I must ask you to remain with us a little while longer…until we are certain we’ve learned all we can about the goblins from you.”

  Noel placed his hands on his hips. “What if I don’t wanna stay?”

  Now Delincas met his gaze. “You are a spell-caster of no small talent, Noel. I know we could not keep you here without taking drastic, deplorable measures.

  “I convinced the king to let you stay inside the palace by promising I would look after you. I will not force you to stay. Instead, I beg you to remain for as long as the king has need of you.”

  And what about my friends at the fort? Noel wanted to argue. But it was hard to stay mad at the wizard with him looking all sad and everything.

  Noel sighed loudly. Klye, Colt, and the others would just have to watch their own backs for the time being. How could he say no to the King of Superius?

  “All right,” Noel said. “But can I have my stuff back? I don’t want to lose that staff. I made it myself, you know.”

  Delincas smiled again. “Of course. Is there anything else you require for your stay?”

  Noel thought hard for a moment before replying, “Can I get a drink of water?”

  Passage VI

  Lilac folded her hands on her lap and pretended to examine something out the window. She could feel Plake’s eyes on her. The rancher sat directly beside her. She was running out of excuses for the man’s behavior. Sooner or later, she was going to have to admit to herself that Plake Nelway fancied her.

  And sooner or later, she would have to do something about it.

  The rebels had spent most of the day in the Renegade Room. Every now and then, people would pop their heads in, as though looking for someone. Lilac recognized some of the men and women from Colt’s Army.

  Klye, who was seated on floor, brooding, was certain Petton was checking in on them. The Renegade Leader was not at all pleased at being left out of the Knights’ meetings. Hunter, Bly, and Pillip, who were also holing up in the Renegade Room—and who were no happier about being left in the dark—sat in contemplative silence.

  “Well, it could be worse,” Scout ventured. “We could be in the dungeon.”

  Lilac flashed the hooded man a smile. Scout’s mood was unsinkable. Even in the grimmest circumstances, she had never seen him despair. Scout had as much cause to be depressed as the rest of them and perhaps more. She had heard him talk about his friends in Port Town and how badly the man wanted to go and make sure they were all right.

  “If you want, Klye, I can go snoop around the fort and see what I can learn,” Scout said.

  Klye waved his hand dismissively. “The Knights aren’t going to let anything slip around you. You’re a Renegade, and they still think we’re the enemy. Besides, if they see you sneaking around, they might just throw us in the dungeon after all.”

  “What about us?” Hunter asked.

  The question clearly took Klye by surprise. When he did not answer her, Hunter went on.

  “We ain’t Renegades. Maybe we could pry some information outta them tight-lipped Knights.”

  Klye shrugged. “Do what you want. I’m not your boss.”

  Hunter planted her hands on her hips and frowned. She looked as though she was going to say something else but instead glanced over at Bly and Pillip. Neither man acknowledged her. They appeared to be as content with wallowing in self-pity as Klye was.

  Lilac reminded herself that both men had reason to wallow. They had both lost loved ones to the goblins. Colt had given them hope that they might strike the enemy a lethal blow. Now he was dead too.

  Her stomach clenched at that thought. She had shed her share of tears upon learning of the commander’s fate. Her brain could not yet fathom that she would never see the young man again. She, Opal, and Othello had risked everything to rescue Colt from the goblins. It all seemed so pointless now. Colt and Othello were gone…just like her brother…

  Across the room, Hunter chewed at her lower lip. Suddenly, she perked up.

  “I got it,” she said to Lilac. “What about that blond Knight…Dylan? You spent some time with him, didn’t you? I’m sure he knows what’s goin’ on. And with a little persuasion, he might fill ya in.”

  Plake sat up straight. “What the hell do you mean by ‘persuasion’?”

  Lilac was speechless. On one hand, Hunter was volunteering her for a reconnaissance mission. On the other, Plake was making an ass out of himself and her.

  She was unspeakably grateful when Klye said, “Shut up, Plake.”

  Her thankfulness evaporated, however, at the Renegade Leader’s next words.

  “Is that true, Lilac? Would Dylan tell you what that meeting with the goblins was all about?”

  “He might.”

  Before Klye could ask the question—and b
efore Plake could make her feel even more uncomfortable—she stood and walked briskly to the door. Of course she would go. Even if her conscience objected to the idea of using Dylan for information, she was all too happy to remove herself from the Renegade Room.

  Her pace slowed considerably once she had left Klye, Hunter, and Plake behind. Making her way through the chilly hallways, she rehearsed what she would say to Dylan. Nothing sounded right.

  Dylan probably had been instructed not to tell anyone—least of all a Renegade—about what was transpiring. No one could fault her if Dylan refused to share what he knew. After several minutes of fruitless searching, she doubted she would even be able find the man.

  Lilac was already thinking of how to break the news of her failure to Hunter and the Renegades when she rounded a corner and walked headlong into Dylan Torc.

  She reflexively brought an arm up to prevent from colliding with the Knight, who had only enough time to pull a surprised face.

  “Pardon me, madam,” he said while trying to navigate his way around her.

  “Dylan!” Lilac called before the man could get away.

  He stopped and looked at her more closely. She supposed he hadn’t recognized her because of the poor light in the corridor. Not to mention he likely had a lot on his mind.

  “Lilac,” Dylan greeted with a bow. “Please pardon my rudeness. I didn’t see it was you.”

  “Ah,” Lilac stammered, frantically searching for the words she had been practicing. “I don’t want to keep you if there is somewhere you must go…”

  Dylan glanced off in the direction he had been heading, and it looked like the man was trying to recall where he had been going. “I am free at the moment. I have only just come from a meeting with Commander Petton. I don’t expect I’ll be needed again until tomorrow morning.”

  Lilac put on a smile, though she almost wished he hadn’t been so forthcoming about where he had been. But there was a part of Lilac that was terribly curious about what the new leader of Fort Faith was planning. When she had been with Colt, she had been privy to a lot of information—more than was proper, really—and she had gotten used to being in the know.