After a long pause, Plake asked, “Does this mean you’re going to let me take it?”
“Even if you kill Drekk’t, you’ll be no match for the shaman,” she told him. “He’ll kill you, and the crystal sword will be lost.”
“So you’re not going to let me take it.”
“What I’m saying is you can’t go out there alone.”
Plake laughed derisively. “Yeah, like Klye’s gonna go along with my plan. He thinks I’m an idiot.”
“I wasn’t referring to Klye.”
“Scout?”
“No, you idiot. Me!”
Plake’s face scrunched up in confusion. “You? Why would you want to come along?”
Opal was asking herself that very question. She knew it was an incredibly foolish idea—and probably suicidal as well—but then again, Stannel’s plan wasn’t much better.
Maybe their actions could benefit the Knights. There was a lot that needed to be done to prepare the secret tunnel for occupation. The illusion of Colt’s acceptance of the duel would buy the fort’s defenders a little more time.
And there was something to be said for taking out the goblins’ general and shaman.
Opal sighed. “For one thing, I’m going to make sure Chrysaal-rûn doesn’t fall into the goblins’ hands.”
“And for another?” Plake prompted.
Opal smiled. “Revenge.”
Plake nodded grimly. “Yeah, I guess you owe those bastards for what they did to Colt. Me, I’ll be avenging Othello.”
Opal looked away when the man mentioned Othello. As she saw it, her grudge with the goblins was threefold: Cholk, Colt, and Othello. But there was no reason to tell Plake that.
“All right,” he said. “We have Colt’s stuff. Now how are we gonna get the staff?”
“The what?”
“The vuudu staff,” Plake explained. “We need it to lure the general to the battlefield.”
Opal hated to admit it, but she had forgotten all about that part of the arrangement. Her first thought was to make a decoy, a false rod, but she knew that that would be pushing their luck too far. Even if they managed to convince Drekk’t that Plake was Colt, there was no way the shaman would mistake a fake for the real staff.
“We have to bring the staff,” he said urgently. “We have to get it away from Stannel.”
“And how are we going to do that, Plake?” she snapped.
“I don’t know yet!” Glancing nervously at the door, Plake added more quietly, “I hadn’t gotten that far.”
Now Opal was beginning to have some serious second thoughts. Borrowing Colt’s armor and sword was one thing, but stealing from Stannel Bismarc, a priest? The thought nauseated her.
Perhaps sensing she was wavering, Plake added, “It’s not like the staff belongs to Stannel. He didn’t steal it from the goblins. You did.”
That much was true. If it hadn’t been for her, Drekk’t would still have in his possession both Colt and the voodoo staff. She had as much right to the staff as Stannel did—arguably more.
As she attempted to sort through the emotions pulling her in two very different directions, she glanced over at the body of Saerylton Crystalus. What would you have me do, Colt? she wondered.
Recalling her final days with the man, she supposed that Colt would have been in full support of Stannel’s plan. Colt would have wanted her as far from danger as was possible while he and the Knights futilely threw themselves at the enemy.
Well, she told her friend’s ghost, that was unacceptable when you were alive, and it’s unacceptable now.
To Plake she said, “All right, but I’m not going to steal the staff like a damned crook.”
“What do you have in mind?” Plake asked eagerly.
“I’ll talk to him. I don’t know what I’ll say, but I’ll think of something.”
In the end, she knew she’d have to lie to him. That didn’t make her feel any better, but what else could she do?
“What about Colt’s things?” Plake asked. “Where are we going to stash them?”
“Why stash them anywhere? We’ll leave them here until we need them.”
“What should I do in the meantime?”
A slew of sarcastic replies came to mind, but Opal resisted voicing them. “You can go back to the Renegade Room and keep your mouth shut. We’ll meet here three hours before dawn in two days.”
“And you’ll bring the staff?” Plake pressed.
“Don’t worry about me. Just don’t do anything suspicious in the meantime.”
Plake scoffed, as though such a thing were inconceivable. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together. I’ll go first, since the Renegades are probably already wondering where I am.”
The man slinked over to the door, opened it the tiniest bit, and stuck his eyeball up against the crack. After a full minute, the Renegade turned back to her and said, “Don’t let anyone see you leaving.”
“I have a reason to be here!” she hissed.
“Oh yeah…I guess so…”
Plake then shouldered through the doorway and disappeared into the corridor. To her dismay, she heard each of his heavy footfalls as he sprinted down the hallway.
She brought her hands up to her face, rubbed her eyes, and wondered what she had gotten herself into.
Passage XII
While a flurry of activity had seized the fort early that morning, the Renegade Room remained much the same as before. Some of the refugees from Rydah and Hylan had already cleared out, perhaps leaving early to find a good place in the tunnel that would serve as the castle keep.
As the day wore on, it seemed obvious to Klye that Hunter, Bly, and Pillip—like the Renegades—were procrastinating. He didn’t know the Hylaners very well, but even if he were inclined to chat with them, he wouldn’t have tried today. A somber air had settled upon the room, and the trio spent the day talking quietly among themselves.
As for Klye, he had little to say to anyone. Both he and Horcalus had said their piece at last night’s meeting, for all the good it had done. None of the Renegades were happy about being forced to miss the impending battle. They had come so far—all the way from Superius—only to be told to stand aside and let the Knights handle things.
Why, Klye thought, if it hadn’t been for us, the Knights would still be following T’slect’s orders!
Naturally, Horcalus had taken Stannel’s decree with the poise of a man accustomed to following orders. Like Stannel, Horcalus had pointed out the importance of their role. Someone had to protect those who planned to escape.
Having thought of Stannel Bismarc as an ally, Klye felt more than a little betrayed by the commander’s decision. He might as well throw us in the dungeon, as Petton had wanted, Klye thought with a frown.
Some small part of Klye realized that he was less angry with Stannel than he was with the fact he may never see the man again. For some reason, Klye had wanted to get to know Stannel better, if only to learn glean some of the wisdom that veritably radiated off of the commander.
Stannel’s confidence in a crisis, his grace under pressure, reminded Klye of Father Elezar back in Port Town. Even if Klye didn’t believe in the gods, he knew faith was a real thing, and it seemed to him that men like Stannel and Elezar were made strong by their beliefs.
At some point in the afternoon, a Knight glanced into the room and upon noticing the lot of them sitting there, entered.
“Shouldn’t you be heading for the tunnel?” There was no remonstration in the man’s voice, which reinforced Klye’s opinion that Zeke Silvercrown was a friend to the Renegades.
“We will,” Klye assured the Knight, “but not yet. We’ll be the last ones to be sealed in that tomb…just in case the goblins find a way through. If the passage is as narrow as Stannel says, the six of us should be able to hold the monsters off for some time, giving the others a chance to run.
Zeke Silvercrown flashed him a warm smile. “An honorable course of action. We Knights are grateful for your cooperat
ion.”
“It’s the least we can do,” Klye replied with a forced smile. He reminded himself that none of the Knights deserved to be the target of his anger. They were already being lenient by overlooking their past crimes.
As though noticing the Hylaners for the first time, Zeke turned to the three and asked, “What about you?”
“We’re in no hurry either,” Hunter said.
“Pray don’t tarry too long. We Knights are depending on you all to keep order in our absence. Good luck.”
As the Knight departed, Klye heard someone say, “I don’t believe in luck.”
The cocky words had been spoken quietly so that only Klye could hear. To Klye’s astonishment, they had been spoken by none other than Dominic Horcalus.
His expression caused the former Knight to chuckle. “Well, that is what you always say, is it not?”
Klye smiled—something he hadn’t done all day. “I suppose I do…because it’s the truth. Either we’ll live, or we’ll die. It’s as simple as that.”
“A fifty-fifty shot?” Lilac asked. “Those aren’t bad odds, considering.”
“There’s a difference between luck and probability,” Klye pointed out. “Our chances of surviving are far lower than fifty-fifty.”
“But if we survive in spite of those terrible odds, then we’ll be lucky,” Lilac argued.
“We’ll have beaten the odds, yes, but I don’t see that as luck. It’s like playing dice.” He pointed over to where Plake, Scout, and Arthur were throwing two wooden dice over and over again. “Scout seems to have an uncanny habit of winning, but it’s not because he’s lucky. He has a strategy. He knows when to bet big and when to back off.”
“Well,” Lilac said, “I’ve played dice with Scout, and I’m inclined to disagree with you. Never in all my life have I seen a man roll doubles as often as he does. He’s just lucky.”
“Or a cheater,” Horcalus said with a laugh.
“Rolling the same number eight times in a row is not only beating the odds, it’s throwing them out the window,” Lilac continued. “To me, that’s luck.”
“Some might say we’re lucky to have lived as long as we have,” Horcalus said, “though I’m inclined to believe the gods have had a hand in it.”
“Ha!” Klye exclaimed. “I’d sooner put my faith in a midge than the gods. At least I can see a midge…but speaking of dice, does something strike you as odd about our three friends over there?”
Neither Lilac nor Horcalus said anything as they once more regarded the game of dice.
“It looks to me like Scout is winning,” said Lilac at last. “Nothing unusual about that.”
“Yes, but Arthur usually only watches,” Horcalus interjected. “He is not wont to play with Plake because the rancher taunts and ridicules him.”
Klye, Horcalus, and Lilac watched for another few seconds.
“I don’t think I’ve heard Plake curse once!” Lilac whispered to her fellow conspirators.
“Maybe he’s trying to impress you,” Horcalus teased, and he received an elbow in the ribs from Lilac for the comment.
Klye didn’t say anything. Now that he thought about it, Plake hadn’t said much of anything all day. He hadn’t complained once, and in Klye’s estimation, that was a sure sign that something was amiss. When the rancher apologized to Arthur for grabbing the dice when it was Arthur’s turn, Klye was convinced Plake was up to something.
Eventually, Horcalus and Lilac started talking about something else, but Klye’s attention remained fixed on the dice game and—more precisely—on Plake.
* * *
Opal lay in bed long after the sun had risen. She was only partly aware of the outline of the shutters moving across the wall. Every so often she would awaken, only to roll over again, ignoring the fact that day had broken. This sequence might have continued well into the evening, but for a knock on her door.
The sound wrenched Opal from her restless sleep, causing her to jolt upright in bed. For a moment, she didn’t know what had roused her. A heavy cloud had settled in her head, and it showed no signs of dissipating. After a few seconds, however, last night’s chat with Plake Nelway burbled up through the fog. The memory was nearly enough to send her reaching for the pillow.
The knock came again.
Opal shivered, suddenly chilled. She had inadvertently sundered the seal of insulation that was her quilt when she sat upright. Now, wearing only a thin shift, she was loath to throw back the heavy blanket and confront the wintry day—not to mention whoever was at the door.
“Just a moment,” Opal called out groggily, stalling for time.
With a sigh of surrender, she extricated herself from the warm cocoon. The cold stone floor sent another shiver through her body. Her feet were instantly numb. She considered pulling on some pants and her coat but reached for the blanket instead.
She hurried over to the door, stumbling over the quilt, which had bunched up at her feet. As she turned the key in the lock—a luxury Colt had provided for her even before the fortress became overridden with Renegades and thieves—she supposed it was Plake standing on the other side.
Opal was forced to bite back her scathing words when she found herself face-to-face not with Plake, but with the one man she had been avoiding all day.
“Pardon my intrusion, Miss Opal,” Stannel Bismarc said. “I did not mean to wake you.”
The Knight glanced down at her attire, taking in the sheer nightgown that had been revealed when she had reached for the doorknob. Self-consciously, Opal pulled the quilt tighter to her chest. To the man’s credit, his eyes did not again wander from hers.
“I…didn’t realize it was so late,” she replied.
“I would like to speak with you,” Stannel said. “I shall come back a little later.”
“That’s not necessary. Please, come in,” Opal told him, taking a step back from the doorway to give him room to enter.
She nodded toward a vacant bed even as she took a seat at the edge of her own. Opal’s once-private quarters had been converted into a women’s dormitory, thanks to the unexpected influx of female residents. Having had the bedroom to herself since first arriving at the fort, it had been quite an adjustment having to share her room with strangers—not to mention her bed!
Lilac, Hunter, and the other newcomers spent their nights in the cramped chamber. But since the room was now empty, Opal was left to assume the other women had already headed for the hidden passageway—which, she thought wryly, was bound to be even more crowded.
With a wry smile, she wondered if the Knights planned on constructing dividers to separate the males and females within the tunnel when it came time to sleep.
Stannel must have mistaken her smirk for a sincere smile because he bestowed upon her a warm smile that made her feel guilty for her sarcastic musings. To top if off, she was already scrambling to think up a way to swindle him out of the vuudu staff.
“I hope I find you well this morning?” Stannel asked. Whereas most people uttered those words as an empty greeting, the Knight’s inquiry had been said in earnest.
She brushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen against her face. “I’m doing all right,” she said.
She wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not. Now that her life had purpose again, the string of tragic losses pained her a little less. And yet knowing she would have to stoop to unscrupulous tactics to obtain the staff made her feel ill.
So as not to appear too eager, Opal avoided looking at the staff, which was strapped to Stannel’s back.
“I am glad to hear it.” Stannel’s smile faded when he added, “I realize that you are already carrying a heavy burden, but I must ask a favor of you.”
“What is it?” she asked, grateful for any avenue of conversation that would delay her unsavory agenda.
“As you well know, we Knights will face the full might of the goblin army tomorrow morning. Since I will be in the thick of it, I can no longer be the bearer of this.”
; Stannel reached around and told hold of the vuudu staff, removing the leather harness he had fashioned for it. He set the accursed thing lengthwise across his lap. For a moment, Opal could not understand his meaning.
“I must confess you were not my first choice,” Stannel continued. “I asked Sister Aric to keep the staff safe, but she will have no part of it. On the one hand, she will be busy enough looking after the wounded in the tunnel, and on the other, she cannot bear to look at the thing.”
Opal could only stare stupidly at the object of her desire—and her deepest loathing.
“You…you want me to take it?”
“In all fairness, I ought to have asked you first,” Stannel told her. “You and Colt were the ones who stole it from the goblins. Colt saw fit for you to safeguard the staff while he and his army went into battle. Now I must ask you to do the same.”
Opal could not bring her mouth to speak.
“I can see you are reluctant to take on this grim responsibility, and I do not blame you,” the commander said. “Alas, I have yet to tell you the worst of it. I believe that the goblin shaman has already tried to reclaim the staff once within the fort. You will find yourself in great danger if he makes another attempt.”
“Unless the shaman dies,” Opal muttered, her eyes never leaving the hideous yellow skull.
“Yes, that is true,” Stannel agreed. “My men know the shaman is the most dangerous member of Drekk’t’s army. Should any of them have the chance to slay Ay’sek in battle tomorrow, they will not hesitate to take it.”
“Are you so certain that the goblins will attack?”
The question had come unbidden to her lips. To Opal, her voice sounded like that of a frightened child.
Stannel nodded, his expression severe. She understood, then, how much she had wanted him to assure her the Knights’ plan was just a precaution and that tomorrow morning would be as blessedly uneventful as the past few had been. More than that, she had wanted him to tell her there was no reason for her to go through with the crazy plan she and Plake had concocted.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 117