Of course, the Knight could not do that.
“Will you take the staff?” Stannel asked, holding it out to her.
Opal leaned forward and wrapped her hands around the cold, gnarled wood, trembling as she brought the evil relic to her lap. She had held the staff like this once before, sitting cross-legged, the rod balanced across her knees…
She remembered the pirates running away. She remembered sitting beside Othello’s dead body. And she remembered a distinct presence—no, not presence, an awareness. She had known then that with the staff, she could give life back to the forester.
How long she had sat there, contemplating whether or not to resurrect Othello, Opal could not say. Finally, Stannel and Nisson had come for he. In retrospect, the entire episode seemed more like a dream than reality.
She looked up at Stannel, who appeared relieved to be rid of the staff.
“You may feel compelled to use its magic,” Stannel told her. “Don’t look so surprised, my dear. I am convinced that the staff will lend its power to anyone, whether she would use the magic for good or for evil. I too have endured temptation while carrying the thing. Yet I know that despite my noble intensions, the staff would twist my purpose into something dark.”
He rose suddenly to his feet. “I must bid you goodbye. There is much to do before dawn.”
Opal made to follow, but he motioned for her to remain seated. When he reached the door, Stannel turned to look at her again.
“Pray remember this, my friend…that weapon serves a wicked god, and the Nefarious Seven always demand a price for their gifts.”
Stannel looked as though he wanted to say more, but with a resigned sigh, he left, closing the door behind him. Opal stared at the spot where he had been for several minutes, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Then she glanced down at the vuudu staff to find the empty eyes of the skull staring up at her. She half expected the damned thing to start talking, but the room remained dreadfully silent.
She supposed she should be grateful Stannel had given her the staff freely and that she hadn’t had to lie to him to get it. But now that she had the foul thing, she wanted only to give it back.
Opal set the staff on the ground, wiping her hands on the blanket afterward. The temptation to go back to sleep was great, but she resisted. Instead, she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped the quilt around her in an attempt to banish the cold that had seeped into her bones.
She sat there for two hours more. When she finally got dressed, the sun was nearly set, and her stomach groaned for want of nourishment. After so many hours of soul searching, Opal had set her mind to the course ahead.
But even as she made her way to the dining hall, the vuudu staff secured to her back, she couldn’t decide whether her decision was one of great bravery or immense cowardice.
Passage XIII
Klye groaned and swatted away the hand that was jostling him back to the world of the wakeful. He rubbed his bleary eyes. It was still dark in the Renegade Room, which told him it was too early to be awake.
“It’s time we headed for the tunnel,” Scout said, hovering above him. “The Knights are waiting to conceal the passageway…though it’ll take all of one minute to close the wall and hang that old tapestry back up again.”
Klye muttered an incoherent reply. As he pulled on his boots and weapons—the rapier he had acquired in Port Town and a knife Stannel had given to him—he glanced around at the others. Horcalus was standing impatiently near the doorway. The man looked as though he had been up for hours.
No matter how much Klye wanted to stay and fight, Horcalus wanted it that much more. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for Horcalus to remain separated from the other Knights—the “rightful defenders” of the fort.
Klye’s glance landed next on Arthur, who was busy searching his sword for imperfections. How different the young man looked compared to the skittish runaway who joined his band three months ago. Klye suspected Arthur’s adventure atop Wizard’s Mountain was partially responsible for the transformation, but he also knew that Horcalus had worked wonders in building the boy’s confidence.
Arthur had certainly changed as a result of his journey across Capricon—but couldn’t that be said of them all?
“I already went and woke up Lilac.” Scout sounded much too chipper for Klye’s liking. “The funny thing was, she wasn’t the only one in the room. Opal still hasn’t gone to the tunnel. She was awake, though, and she had all of her gear on.”
Klye absorbed the news with an absent nod. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Bly, Pillip, and Hunter were seated together, eating hardtack and drinking from water skins. He wondered what the three of them were waiting for but figured like the Renegades—and like Opal, apparently—the Hylaners were just putting off the inevitable for as long as possible.
His attention was drawn away from the trio when Lilac entered the room. The first thing he noticed was that Lilac carried the vorpal sword once more. She mumbled a sleepy hello to the others and then asked, “Where’s Plake?”
A damn good question, Klye thought. He cursed himself for not noticing Plake’s absence right away.
“Relax, Klye. Plake said he had to answer nature’s call,” Scout said. “But now that you mention it, he’s been gone a long time. Maybe the hardtack’s not agreeing with him.”
And maybe I’m Almighty Aladon, Klye groused. He had supposed that the rancher was up to something yesterday when Plake had gotten along so well with the others. But Plake never gave any hint as to why he was acting so peculiar.
“He actually said ‘nature’s call’?” Arthur asked skeptically.
“Yeah,” Scout said, his eyes looking somewhere far off. “Now that you mention it, that’s a bit weird. The man has no shortage of colorful phrases to describe his bodily functions, and most of them are too crude to repeat in the presence of a lady.”
Lilac rolled her eyes.
If Plake had spent the previous day cursing the goblins and making outrageous promises to personally kill them all, Klye could not have been more alarmed than he was now.
“He’s going to do something stupid,” Klye said.
“How do you know?” Horcalus asked.
Klye threw his hands into the air. “Because he’s Plake!”
He was about to give the order to split up and search for the missing rancher when a distant cry wafted into the room from the corridor. Although he could not make the words, Klye detected a distinct note of alarm in the shout.
What had Plake done this time? he wondered.
* * *
When Drekk’t finally found Ay’sek, he nearly drew his sword and beheaded the shaman on the spot.
“What is the meaning of this?” he roared, gesturing at the warriors dressed for battle and lined up in rigid rows all around them. “I gave no order to form ranks!”
Ay’sek didn’t flinch. “But I did, General.”
“Wha—”
“Someone had to take the proper precautions,” Ay’sek continued, “and since you have apparently lost your mind, I took the liberty of assuming control of the army.”
“How dare…how dare you!” Drekk’t growled. “You’ve gone too far this time, shaman!”
Ay’sek took an aggressive step forward, looking Drekk’t squarely in the eyes. “Jer’malz has not returned from the fool’s errand you sent him on, and for all of my spells, I cannot locate him. Likely as not, the lieutenant and his squadron are dead.”
Drekk’t opened his mouth to say that Jer’malz’s situation had nothing to do with the present circumstances, but Ay’sek did not let him interrupt.
“As for the other lieutenant, Ay’goar, he was killed during the night. Naturally, no one seems to know what happened.”
An assassination, Drekk’t deduced. Some ambitious officer—or several of them—had taken advantage of Jer’malz’s absence. With both lieutenants gone, there were now two positions that needed filling…and ev
en a third promotion if someone were bold enough to strike at him.
Someone like Ay’sek.
The shaman pressed on. “The warriors are numb and frostbitten, and this snow threatens to bury us alive. We have tarried too long here, General.”
“In one measly hour, we will know whether Saerylton Crystalus has accepted the terms of the duel!” Drekk’t argued. “To attack now would be madness!”
Ay’sek let out a laugh so full of ridicule that Drekk’t’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. Upsinous damn him for eternity, but he must kill the shaman!
“Saerylton Crystalus will not come,” Ay’sek sneered. “I am now convinced the commander is d—”
The shaman’s words were cut off as the sound of many voices speaking at once rippled through the army around them. General and shaman broke off their baleful stare and turned to regard the preoccupied soldiers.
“What is it?” Drekk’t snapped, grabbing one of the warriors by the arm. “What’s going on?”
The goblin blanched. “I dunno, n’patrek. Can’t see much of anything back here, but it sounds like the humans are coming out.”
Drekk’t was on the verge of charging through the lines, forcing his way to the front to see what was transpiring, but Ay’sek’s words stopped him.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a dwarf,” the shaman chuckled.
Drekk’t turned to find Ay’sek levitating five feet off the ground. His eyes glowed with a strange light as he gazed out at the fort.
“It looks like you’ll have your duel after all, General. Two riders approach, and one appears to be your rival, the indomitable Saerylton Crystalus.”
Wicked delight welled up from inside Drekk’t. The realization that he was finally going to face the hated Knight in battle hit him like a heady brew. He almost let out a celebratory whoop, but feeling the shaman’s eyes upon him, Drekk’t was careful to keep his expression dispassionate and dignified.
“What about the staff?” he asked Ay’sek. “Do they bring Peerma’rek?”
A dark smile stretched across Ay’sek’s face. “They do.”
The Emperor had declared an end to the war, but Drekk’t was determined not leave the island without one last victory. He would kill Colt, or he would die trying.
* * *
“Hold still,” Opal snapped, doing her best to secure the shiny piece of metal to Plake’s leg.
“Don’t sass me, squire,” Plake told her in an exaggeratedly regal voice. This earned him glare from Opal—not the first one she had given him that morning.
But she bit back the sharp words that came readily to her tongue and concentrated instead on the task at hand. The problem was neither she nor Plake knew much about armor. By sheer luck, they had managed to drag Colt’s gear from his bedchamber to the stable without being seen. But now she felt like she was putting together an oversized puzzle.
“How in the hells did you expect to do this by yourself?” Opal wiped the sweat from her brow and retrieved the helmet. None too gently, she put the thing on Plake’s head.
“Do I look dashing?” he asked.
Opal slammed the visor closed over his face. “Much better,” she muttered.
“Very funny,” he replied, his voice echoing against the faceplate.
Seconds later, they encountered their next obstacle—getting Plake up on a horse.
“If you insist on touching me there, milady, we will have to be wed at once!”
Opal—who was bracing herself against the unfortunate horse with one hand and using the other to push against the man’s backside—was in no mood for jokes. The fact that Plake was enjoying himself immensely only made her angrier.
“Shut up, Plake!” she said between clenched teeth.
Finally, the Renegade managed to right himself. He opened the visor again. “Oh, I almost forgot. Could you hand me my canteen?”
“Yes, milord,” Opal said under her breath.
She handed him the item and watched as he took a long drink. She then led Nisson over to the stable’s entrance, which she had opened earlier. The white mare greeted her with a whicker as she mounted. When Opal glanced back at Plake, he was taking another drink.
“That’s not water in there, is it?”
Plake flashed her a mischievous grin. “Nope.”
“Where did you get…? Never mind. I don’t want to know. Just put a stopper in that and come on. We haven’t much time.”
The Renegade defiantly took one last swig before dropping the canteen onto the ground, the deep-red liquid dribbling out onto the ground.
“A terrible waste,” Plake said with an exaggerated sigh.
Opal had just about had it with the man. She was on the verge of calling everything off when she heard voices coming from inside the fort. Probably, it was the Knights who were to guard the stable from any goblins attempting to breech the fortress.
“Too late to look back now,” she thought aloud.
She gave Nisson a firm kick to the side and told her to run. At this stage in their partnership, Opal suspected that the horse probably would have responded to vocal commands alone, but now was not the time to test her theory.
Horse and rider burst from the stable and into the frigid outdoors. A backward glance confirmed that Plake, atop a chestnut charger belonging to the Knights, was following close behind. Opal looked back a few seconds later and saw men standing in the doorway, watching her and Plake as they raced away.
In her haste, she hadn’t tied back her hair. Now, the red strands blew wildly, whipping at her face. Tears welled up in her eyes as she squinted against the cold wind. The first rays of morning crested the eastern horizon, casting the snowy plain in a dull gray light.
But the bulk of the landscape was blotted out by dark shapes. It appeared as though the goblins were all lined up, ready to surge forward and throw themselves at the fort.
This could well be the biggest mistake of my life, Opal thought—not to mention the last. She slipped one hand behind her to make sure that the vuudu staff was in place. She was both comforted and troubled when her fingers closed upon the stiff, gnarled wood.
“It’s too late to go back,” she repeated, though her words were blown away the moment they left her mouth.
If this ends badly…if I die, she thought, at least I’ll get to see Colt and Cholk again.
And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if her friends would welcome her into Paradise with open arms or curse her for handing the abomination back to their hated enemy.
* * *
Klye followed the sound of excited voices to the fort’s front hall. The rest of the Renegades and the trio from Hylan followed closely at his heels. Klye entered the vast chamber to find an assembly of Knights gathered there. The lot of them were talking at once.
He thought he heard the word “riders” being repeated, and as he forced his way into the throng, he could have sworn one Knight said, “It was Commander Colt, upon my honor!”
Klye looked around, searching for a familiar face, but even though he had been a guest of Knights for more than a month, he knew precious few of them. When he noticed Stannel standing on the lower section of the large stairway, he altered his course, shoving fully armed Knights out of his way without a second thought.
When he—and the trail of Renegades and Hylaners behind him—finally made it to Stannel, he saw that Dylan and Zeke Silvercrown were conversing with the commander.
“What’s going on?” Klye demanded.
Both Zeke and Dylan looked surprised to see him, but not Stannel.
“By all appearances, Opal has left the fort on horseback, taking with her the vuudu staff,” the older Knight explained.
“What?” was all Klye could think to say. He had all but forgotten about the redheaded archer until Scout had mentioned her earlier that morning. In fact, he had done his best to avoid the woman ever since he had seen her looking so vulnerable at Colt’s deathbed.
“That’s not the best part,” Dylan added. “Th
e Knights who were sent to the stable claim they saw Colt riding beside her.”
Klye had no response to that, and so he looked to Stannel for an explanation. The Commander of Fort Valor regarded Klye with a perfectly unreadable expression, betraying none of his thoughts.
“Maybe Colt didn’t die after all?” Scout ventured from somewhere behind Klye.
“The body of Saerylton Crystalus is accounted for,” Stannel assured them. “The late commander’s belongings, however, are missing.”
“But who would dare to take Colt’s place?” Klye wondered aloud.
He might have suspected Sir Dylan if the Knight had not been standing right in front of him. Stannel started to say something, but Klye didn’t hear him because it suddenly occurred to him who the culprit was.
“Plake!”
“Pardon?” Stannel said.
“Plake…he’s one of my Renegades. Damn it all, it has to be him.”
Within minutes, they had pieced it together. Plake, who shared a few characteristics with Saerylton Crystalus, had taken it upon himself to challenge Drekk’t in Colt’s place. The rancher had convinced Opal to help him because he needed the vuudu staff to make the scenario as credible as possible.
But how Plake had managed to talk the stubborn, Renegade-hating woman into going along with his scheme, Klye couldn’t guess. When Stannel asked him whether he knew why Plake would do something like this, Klye shook his head.
Behind him, Lilac said, “Defenders’ Plague?”
Casting Lilac a knowing glance, Klye chuckled and said to Stannel, “I can think of only one reason why Plake would want to play hero.”
“It doesn’t matter why they are doing it,” Dylan said. “Their actions are paramount to treason. They might as well just give the staff back to the goblins. Unless that Renegade is a better swordsman than Petton and I combined, he hasn’t a chance at defeating the general.”
Klye heard several groans behind him. Klye silently shared in the sentiment. Out of everyone in his band, Plake was probably the worst fighter.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 118