At that moment, she wouldn’t have traded the smell of manure for even the most precious bottle of Huiyan perfume. Nisson whinnied a greeting as Opal approached her stall. As she combed her fingers through the horse’s mane, Opal spoke softly to her. She was only vaguely aware of the tears trickling down her cheeks.
“You’re a brave one, aren’t you, girl?” she whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if…if…”
Opal had wanted to stay angry with Stannel for riding Nisson into battle, but she was convinced it had been Nisson who found her in the woods. Alone in the woods…with Othello’s corpse…
Thankfully, Nisson’s wound hadn’t been deep, and the horse was already on the mend. She knew Nisson would run for her if she commanded it. Even if every hoof-fall sent a jolt of agony through the animal, Nisson would run for her.
“If they think I’m going to hide in some stinking hole and leave you to die here, they’re in for a surprise,” she told the mare.
Absently stroking Nisson’s snowy white flank, Opal remembered the confidence she had felt when facing the whole of the goblin army in order to rescue Colt. She didn’t remember being afraid. Had her concern for Colt overpowered instinctual fear?
No, it had been more than just bravery…
Her boldness had been bolstered by an exquisite display of swordsmanship. In her impromptu battle with Drekk’t, she had wielded the crystal sword with a talent seemingly beyond her.
According to Lilac and Dylan, Colt’s final fight, too, had been a remarkable display…
Like sunlight piercing the darkest of storm clouds, understanding hit her. It was the sword—it had to be. Chrysaal-rûn had displayed an assortment of magical properties during the short time Colt had carried it.
She had seen Colt cut through solid steel with it. On one occasion, the crystal sword had emitted a blue beacon of light. Another time, it had scalded Klye’s hand so that the rebel couldn’t wield it against Colt.
And apparently, Chrysaal-rûn also had the ability to enhance its wielder’s fighting abilities.
Still petting her beloved horse, her only friend, Opal muttered, “If I’m going to face those ugly bastards again, I’m going to need that sword.”
* * *
Plake spent the first part of the meeting staring at Lilac, trying to come up with a way to win her affection. During the silence dedicated to the late Lieutenant Petton, Plake saw the woman close her eyes and bow her head. She looked so sad.
How he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her!
Stannel then said something about the goblins proposing a second duel, but Plake immediately tuned the commander out. Strategy bored him, and because Klye, Horcalus, and Scout had been discussing what they would do if they were in charge almost nonstop before the meeting, Plake thought he’d prefer a goblin spear to the gut than to have to listen to more talk.
If Lilac hadn’t come, he probably would have sat this meeting out in the Renegade Room.
“What if someone were to don the late commander’s armor and brandish his sword?” someone near the front of the room asked. “The goblins might unwittingly accept a substitute.”
Stannel looked over at the man who had spoken, as did Plake. The rancher’s worst fears were confirmed when the man proposing the daring plan turned out to be none other than Sir Dylan Torc.
“Perhaps,” Stannel told Dylan, “but General Drekk’t is cunning, and as you know, he employs the services of a vuudu priest. Any charade on our part would quickly unravel, I fear. Aside from gaining the opportunity to slay one goblin out of thousands, I cannot see what we would gain by the ruse.”
Stannel spoke with calm assurance and obvious intelligence. Plake hoped Dylan would argue with him just so the new Commander of Fort Faith—or was it Fort Valor again?—could put him in his place. But the younger Knight did not say anything else.
“A decoy is not without merit.” The paunchy man who spoke had a thick mustache that curled up at both ends. He reminded Plake a little of his uncle. But instead of worn leather duds, this man wore a uniform of some sort. Faded red and white stripes could be seen in the few places that weren’t discolored by dark stains.
“A false Colt would make a nice diversion,” the same man added. “If the goblins are all looking in one direction, we could strike from another.”
“We couldn’t beat ’em when we had two armies,” argued a man that Plake couldn’t see. “What chance do we have now that there’s even fewer of us?”
Several people, including Pillip and the burly fellow beside him, condemned the defeatist sentiment. Above the sudden clamor, Lilac’s friend Hunter could be heard shouting, “Well, dyin’ out there sure beats suffocating in some tunnel!”
That comment evoked even more shouts—some in agreement, some against—and provoked Stannel to raise his voice to be heard above the din.
“Order!” Surprisingly, everyone quieted down. “You will all have a chance to speak, but you must do so one at a time.”
The argument raged on for a while, with Stannel playing mediator and devil’s advocate. But Plake was no longer following the discussion. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dylan and how the Knight had one-upped him again by volunteering to fight in Colt’s place.
Though it didn’t seem likely Dylan would be allowed to impersonate Colt, Dylan had certainly scored points by suggesting it. The only thing Plake could do to trump Dylan’s bravado was to go through with the heroic deed.
Hmm…
He was about the same height and build as the late Saerylton Crystalus. Wrapped in a suit of armor, his face hidden behind the visor of a helm, Plake would easily dupe the goblins. If he could get his hands on Colt’s stuff—including that magical sword—the goblin general would never be the wiser!
Plake imagined his triumphant return to the fort, carrying the general’s head. If the goblins kept their word, they would leave, and he would be a hero. If they didn’t go, he’d use the crystal sword to hack apart any goblin foolish enough to get too close to him and Lilac.
When Stannel turned his back to the Renegades, addressing someone on the other side of the room, Plake caught sight of the vuudu staff.
He had known earlier that day that the staff would be part in his plan to win Lilac’s heart. At the time, he had supposed he might use its magic to force Lilac to love him back. But now he realized the staff would play an indirect role.
He needed the staff to entice Drekk’t to come out and fight him.
Throughout the rest of the meeting, Plake pondered how he would accomplish what he was now determined to do. Later, he found himself following the crowd as everyone slowly filed out of the dining hall.
His heart was beating so quickly he thought it might burst. Gods below, how he wished he had a drink! Liquid courage would certainly hit the spot. Back in Param, he had never brawled without having emptied a few mugs first. Was he really brave enough to go through with it?
A glance behind him revealed Lilac talking with Dylan.
Plake vowed to any god listening that he would do whatever it took to accomplish his mission. And in two days’ time, no one—not Lilac, not anyone—would be able to deny his bravery.
Heedless of how people were pushing to get around him, Plake took the opportunity to sneak another look at the vuudu staff. His skin no longer crawled when he looked into the empty sockets of the skull. He felt only excitement.
As he made his way back to the Renegade Room, Plake began thinking up ways to get the staff from Stannel Bismarc.
Passage XI
The first corpse Plake had ever seen was his mother’s. That had been so long ago he couldn’t remember what the woman had looked like alive, let alone dead.
More recently, he had seen the beheaded body of Chester Ragellan—a grisly sight to be sure. And of course, he had seen more dead bodies than he could count during the recent clashes with the goblins. The horrified expressions of the dying, not to mention their piteous screams, would live on in Pl
ake’s nightmares.
But unlike those others, Colt looked peaceful. The dead Knight lay with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. The longer Plake stared at the man’s pale face, the more he was able to convince himself that Saerylton Crystalus was only sleeping. He half feared the commander would open his eyes and discover him sneaking about his room.
“We should go,” Scout whispered.
Plake had all but forgotten the other man, and when he turned to face him, he found Scout looking at him, wearing an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. He was about to agree with Scout—eager, as he was, to send the other Renegade on his way—but he feared that that might come off as suspicious.
When had he ever agreed with Scout?
“I dare you to touch him,” Plake said, speaking as loudly as he dared.
He watched in satisfaction as Scout flinched. The hooded man’s eyes darted over to the door, as though he expected someone to barge in and discover them.
“Shhh!” Scout hissed. “We could get in trouble. We really shouldn’t be here…”
“So you are afraid,” Plake said with a smug smile.
Scout might have rolled his eyes, but it was so dark in the room that Plake couldn’t tell for sure.
“You’re about the most unsneaky person I’ve ever met,” Scout shot back. “I’ve already stayed in the dungeon here, and I don’t care to go back. Feel free to stick around if you want, but I’m leaving!”
Having said that, Scout walked over to the door, glanced left and right, and slipped into the hallway. Plake shut the door behind him.
He let out a deep breath and walked back over to the bed where Colt’s body lay. As Plake approached the bedside, he kept one eye on the body. In the gloominess of the room, it was easy for his eyes to play tricks, and he stopped in mid-stride when Colt’s arm seemed to move.
It was then that Plake remembered he believed in ghosts. He suddenly regretted sending Scout away. For all of Scout’s faults, the man was absolutely fearless. Plake on the other hand…
He looked longingly back at the door.
Oh no you don’t, Plake scolded. You have to do this yourself, and you have to do it quickly. The longer you’re away, the more suspicious Scout and the others will get.
He had not wanted to involve anyone in his quest, but he had encountered an obstacle early on. Because stealing from a dead man was easier than robbing Stannel, Plake had decided to go to Colt’s room first—only, he had no idea where that was.
Manipulating Scout into taking him there had been all too easy. Between his trusting nature and his willingness to please, Scout had demanded that Plake follow him so that he could prove he did know where Colt’s room was and that he most certainly was not afraid of dead bodies.
Knowing that Scout could, for any number of reasons, return, Plake forced down the lump in his throat and hurried over to the far wall of the room. To his relief, he saw Colt’s armor stacked neatly on the ground; the visored helm sat atop a small table. Plake was about to try it on when he realized something was missing.
The sword.
Setting the helmet down, he frantically searched the room. As he explored the dark corners of Colt’s quarters, he kept his gaze away from the corpse, adhering to the childhood rule that prevented supernatural things from occurring as long as one didn’t go looking for them.
Instead of hiding beneath a blanket, Plake now found himself kneeling on the floor, peering into the abyss beneath the bed.
But there were nothing but dust bunnies dwelling in the realm of imaginary monsters—just as Auntie had always assured him. With a sigh, Plake twisted around and ended up in a sitting position with his back leaning against the bed.
The crystal sword wasn’t there. Some Knight—maybe Stannel himself—had taken the precious weapon and hidden it from would-be thieves. The crystal sword could be anywhere in the fort. How would he ever find it in time for the duel with Drekk’t?
Cursing his ill luck—and whoever had gotten to the sword first—Plake stood up once more and started walking toward the door. Lingering in the dead Knight’s bedchamber made no sense. I might as well go back to the Renegade Room and get some sleep, he thought miserably.
He stopped short halfway between the bed and the door, however.
There was one place he hadn’t searched.
Swallowing the brassy taste in his mouth, Plake turned to confront the body of Saerylton Crystalus. Small, hesitant steps brought him to the Knight’s bedside. Careful not to look at the man’s face, Plake examined the blanket that stretched up to Colt’s shoulders. Plake’s trembling hand reached out and tugged at the covers.
He did his best to pull the blanket down without touching the man’s cold, dead skin. The round pommel of a sword rested at the base of Colt’s neck. A little more pulling revealed the crosspiece and the lip of a scabbard.
Unfortunately for Plake, the Knight’s stiff arms, folded as they were, held the sword and the rest of the blanket tight against his breast. For a second, Plake considered moving Colt’s arms, but when he imagined the sickly crunching sound of bones breaking, he almost lost his nerve and his dinner.
Steeling himself against the fact that he was going to have to get closer—much closer—to the dead man, Plake wrapped his hands around the top of the scabbard and pulled. When his arm pressed up against the side of Colt’s face, he muttered an apology. He yanked at the weapon, but it budged only an inch.
He was about to make another effort at slipping the sword out of death’s embrace, when he heard the distinct sound of a door creaking open behind him.
* * *
Opal’s body reacted far quicker than her mind. Up went her crossbow, training in on the center of the intruder’s chest. After what seemed like several minutes—but what was actually no more than two full seconds—she regained mastery of her voice.
“Who in the hells are you, and what are you’re doing here?”
Whatever the man had been doing to Colt, he now withdrew his hands and held them up to show he was unarmed.
“I can explain,” the man blurted, his voice full of fear.
Opal’s finger itched to squeeze the trigger, to send a bolt into the monster who dared to desecrate Colt’s resting place. What could he have been up to, anyway? she wondered. Although he was the son of a nobleman, Colt possessed no jewelry that Opal knew of. In fact, the most valuable thing Colt owned was…
“Chrysaal-rûn! You’re trying to steal the crystal sword!”
“Now wait just a minute!” the man yelled back. “I wasn’t going to steal it…I just…just needed to borrow it…that’s all.”
Opal couldn’t suppress a wry chuckle. The man called Lucky was dead, and maybe Tryst was too, but they weren’t the only members of Rydah’s Thief Guild to join Colt’s Army. No one would fault her for shooting the burglar.
“We can talk this out, Red,” the man pleaded. “If you’d just put down that bow of yours and let me explain—”
“What did you call me?”
“W-what? Oh, sorry…you’re name’s Opal, right? I didn’t mean any dis—”
“You’re a Renegade!” When the man didn’t deny the charge, she squinted, trying to make out his features. She recognized him then, though she didn’t know his name. “Did Klye Tristan send you here?”
The rebel started to stammer again, assuring her that Klye had nothing to do with his being there. Opal listened impatiently as he explained why he was after the crystal sword.
At first, Opal was determined to dismiss it all as a lie. The guy expected her to believe he was stealing the crystal sword to impress a woman? It seemed too ludicrous to be true. And yet it was too ridiculous to be invented.
Her arm was starting to cramp up, so she lowered the crossbow. The Renegade must have taken that for a good sign because he relaxed visibly, and his voice lost its panicked, desperate edge. As he finished his story, Opal looked him up and down. She supposed his body type was similar to that of Colt�
��s. But his voice and accent were off.
Even if he were hidden beneath in a ton of armor, the rebel would never fool Drekk’t.
Or could he?
“What’s your name, Renegade?”
“Plake Nelway.”
“And what, Plake Nelway, makes you think you can best Drekk’t in a swordfight?”
“The crystal sword can cut through anything,” he replied confidently. “I lost a perfectly good blade the one time I crossed swords with Colt…back when we kidnapped you…and…”
He went silent, probably noticing the scowl on her face.
Why am I still here talking with him? Opal wondered. She knew she should report Plake to the Knights. Even if the rebel weren’t lying to her, she’d be a fool to get caught up in his scheme.
“You are committed to this course?” she asked, surprising both Plake and herself with the question.
Plake thought for a moment before crossing his arms. “It’s not that big of a risk, as I see it. With the crystal sword in hand, how I could lose?”
“According to Stannel and Dylan, Drekk’t also wields an enchanted sword. The keen blade of the crystal sword alone won’t win the duel.”
A few seconds later, Plake said, “Well, I have to try. It’s the only way she’ll ever notice me.”
Opal resisted the urge to scoff. Even if Plake did somehow defeat Drekk’t, the goblins would still sack the fort. Thanks to the shaman, Plake would never even make it back to the castle. The love-struck Renegade was willing to throw his life away to get Lilac’s attention.
But she could stop him. She could save his life.
“The way I look at it,” Plake said, “it’s better to die out there, trying to do some good than to wait for the goblins to come and find us trapped in a tunnel.”
Or she could help him.
Opal avoided Plake’s eyes as she spoke. “I carried Chrysaal-rûn for a time. I believe there is more to the weapon than its incredibly sharp edge. When I confronted Drekk’t near Rydah, the sword took control of the situation…of me. I think the crystal sword has the ability to protect its owner.”
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 116