“We have to stop this,” Klye said to Stannel. “If we hurry, we might be able to drag Plake, Opal, and the vuudu staff back to the fort before the goblins make their move.”
“The goblin host is already lined up and prepared for battle,” Stannel said. “If we show any signs of aggression, they will charge, and we will be caught out in the open.”
“So you’re just going to let them die?” A pang of guilt stabbed at Klye’s stomach when he saw Stannel’s expression soften.
“You cannot ask me to lead my men out there to be slaughtered,” Stannel said evenly. “And the vuudu staff is not worth the lives of all of those in the tunnels who are depending on us.”
Klye could appreciate Stannel’s point of view. He too was a leader of men. But it was precisely because he was a Renegade Leader that Klye could not agree with Stannel on this.
“Fine,” Klye said, “but let me and the Renegades go out alone. If we’re lucky, the goblins will mistake us for Colt’s entourage.”
Stannel’s brow creased ever so slightly as he considered Klye’s offer.
“Please,” Klye begged. “Plake is a huge pain in the ass, but he’s a Renegade, gods damn it. I can’t stand by and watch him die!”
Everyone was silent then as they awaited Stannel’s answer.
“Very well,” he said at last. “I will not stop you from going to your friend, though I urge you to reconsider.”
Klye was too elated to speak. He wanted to thank the commander but was interrupted by Hunter.
“We’re goin’, too!” she declared.
“No,” was Stannel’s quick reply.
Klye glanced back at Hunter. The woman was practically trembling with rage. “Whaddaya mean—”
“Too many attendants will rouse the goblins’ suspicion,” Stannel told her. Hunter looked ready to argue with him, but Stannel was quick to add, “However, because you are so intent on finding battle today, I will allow you to supplement the ranks of Knights and guardsmen within the fort.”
Hunter looked first to Pillip and then to Bly. Seemingly satisfied, she said, “All right, it’s a deal.”
Klye didn’t bother waiting around to see what happened next. Trusting that Horcalus, Lilac, Arthur, and Scout would follow, he pushed his way through the mass of Knights and made for the stable. His mind was so jumbled with thoughts he couldn’t concentrate long enough on any of them to come up with a decent plan. There were simply too many variables to do anything but play it by ear.
If Plake survived the day, Klye swore he’d kill the insubordinate rancher himself.
Passage XIV
Plake heard Opal let off a stream of curses. He was stunned and entertained by the woman’s vocabulary—which rivaled any tavern talk he had heard in Param—but his amusement evaporated when he turned in the saddle to find what had made the woman swear.
A handful of riders were crossing the plain, quickly approaching the spot where he and Opal had stopped to wait for the goblins. A glance back at the goblin lines revealed a small procession making its way toward the two of them from the opposite direction.
He looked to Opal for an answer, but the woman just shook her head and repeated the same dirty word over and over. The humans—whoever they were—would reach them first, but the goblins’ arrival would come soon after, despite the fact that they had no horses.
“What are we going to do?” Plake asked.
“Why ask me? They’re your friends.”
It took Plake a few seconds to understand what she meant, but another look at the oncoming riders showed him the truth of things. Naturally, Klye was in the lead. As the group neared, Plake was able to distinguish the armor-clad Dominic Horcalus as well as Scout, whose silly black hood flailed in the wind. The other two would have to be Arthur and Lilac.
Plake felt his heart beat faster. While he was happy to have Lilac there to witness his valorous deed firsthand, Klye would probably try to stop him.
He was unable to give the matter more thought for the Renegades were upon them then. Klye shot an incredulous look at Opal but walked his horse over to Plake.
“What in the fiery hells do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.
Maybe it was the wine coursing through his veins, but Plake was not at all intimidated by the self-made Renegade Leader. Or maybe it was the crystal sword hanging at his side that emboldened his tongue.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Plake shot back with a smirk.
Klye’s expression darkened, and Plake thought that the Renegade Leader might hit him. The man’s jet-black hair danced in the wind like black flames. After a moment, Klye broke eye contact and looked back at Lilac, who accepted the signal for what it was.
Lilac urged her mount forward and said, “Plake, this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done!”
The words stung—there was no denying that—but at the same time, Plake saw true concern in the woman’s face. And that was a good thing. Not knowing what else to say, Plake replied, “Well, no one ever accused me of being smart.”
“We have to go,” Lilac said. “The goblins—”
“Are all but here,” Opal interrupted. “If we turn and run now, they’ll attack, and I’m willing to bet that not even Nisson can outpace a vuudu spell.”
Klye looked like he was ready to argue with the archer, but Horcalus spoke first.
“She is right, Klye. It is too late to go back.”
“Then let’s make a stand,” Scout suggested, an eager gleam in his eyes.
“We haven’t a chance against the shaman,” Lilac argued.
“Our only hope is to fool them,” Opal declared. “Go along with our ruse, and maybe some good can come out of this.”
Plake looked to Klye, who would make the decision for all. Plake could only hope that his face didn’t appear too desperate. The goblins were so close he could make out the harsh syllables of their speech.
“Fine,” Klye said angrily. “Now shut your visor, Plake.”
And he would say no more. The goblins came to a stop a few feet away from them. Plake counted ten in all. Two of the more distinguishable goblins stepped forward. One wore a long, black robe. The other was bedecked in an assortment of mismatched armor. That he had obviously collected his equipment from the corpses of his enemies made General Drekk’t all the more intimidating.
“You keep strange company, Commander.”
Although the general spoke in his native tongue, Plake heard the meaning of the words in his head. Compounded with the effect of the wine, it was most disorienting. For a moment, Plake could only stare in awe of the general. But the sound of Opal clearing her throat brought his mind back to the here and now.
“Ah…well, you already know my good friend Opal,” he improvised. Pointing at the others, he said, “These are the Renegades. We’ve become pals too…ever since T’slect tried to kill us all.”
“What of Stannel Bismarc?” Drekk’t asked.
The words that penetrated Plake’s brain were wrapped in a sly tone. The general was suspicious.
“The Knights did not want him to partake in the duel,” Opal said quickly. “After what happened to Sir Petton…”
“Yes, I see,” Drekk’t said, a toothy smile splaying his face.
“Well, should we get started then?” Plake asked.
Drekk’t’s eyes narrowed, and Plake wondered if the general could distinguish between human accents.
“Lift your visor, Commander, so that I may look you in the eye.”
Plake considered refusing the order, but refusing might prove even more dangerous than complying. To Plake, all goblins looked alike. He could only pray the same was true the other way around.
He lifted the visor of Colt’s helm and stared defiantly at the goblin, daring him not to see Saerylton Crystalus looking back.
Drekk’t scrutinized his face for a moment. He must have seen what he wanted to see because he then said, “Dismount, Commander, and draw your sword. It is time to end our rivalry.”
Plake unsheathed his sword. He could not help but marvel at the glassy blade, which looked as delicate as the wayward snowflakes drifting down from the heavens. Of course, Plake knew that the crystal sword was not at all fragile.
Silently, he implored the blade’s magic to work for him.
Drekk’t turned to confront him, positioning his feet in a battle-ready stance. Plake had no stance. He had never met an opponent in prearranged combat. Plake’s preferred method of attack was from behind with a bar mug in hand.
Looking into the demonic eyes of his enemy, Plake felt all of the courage drain from him like a drunkard pissing in public. For that matter, he had to make a conscious effort not to wet himself. The seriousness of the situation struck him all at once, and he considered throwing off his helmet, declaring the match forfeit.
He never had the chance.
* * *
“If I should fall, do whatever you must to regain Peerma’rek…for the redemption of both our souls!”
Drekk’t’s words echoed in Ay’sek’s mind as the duelists faced off. Ay’sek had barely contained his mirth at the time, but now that Drekk’t was preoccupied with the much-anticipated battle, the shaman chuckled to himself.
If you should fall? he silently taunted. Oh, you will fall, General. If the human does not slay you, then I will!
Ay’sek could have arranged Drekk’t’s death from the start. How simple it would be to remove the enchantment from his sword. He longed to see Colt’s crystalline blade pierce the general’s chest…
But Ay’sek wanted to relish the insolent warrior’s demise. He would enjoy the bloody sport that was unfolding for as long as it lasted. If Drekk’t fell to Colt’s superior swordsmanship, then the general’s death would be of his own making. If Drekk’t won, Ay’sek would make sure Drekk’t knew who it was that robbed him of his moment of victory—and his life.
Ay’sek took a moment to observe the unusual escorts the human challenger had brought with him. There was no sign of the warrior cleric, which made Ay’sek’s grin grow. Stannel’s absence would make regaining Peerma’rek all the easier.
He recognized only two of Colt’s company. The female with the yellow hair had been with Colt in Hylan, back when the shaman had stolen the identity of the thief Lucky. At least, Ay’sek was fairly certain it was the same swordswoman.
As for the other female—oh, Ay’sek certainly knew her.
Once before, this woman with hair was the color of human blood had stood between him and Peerma’rek. Although she possessed no magic, the archer—and her unexpected allies—had prevented him from reclaiming the staff. If it hadn’t been for her, he and the rest of the army could have departed days ago.
If I can’t kill Stannel, he thought, I’ll just have to settle for the bitch.
* * *
Plake watched in horror as the goblin leaped forward. The monster’s broadsword came down in a diagonal slash, aiming for the place where his neck met his shoulder. Plake saw it coming. In fact, time seemed to slow down, affording him the opportunity to imagine the goblin’s sword cutting him from shoulder to shank.
Plake closed his eyes, bracing for what would surely be the first and last blow of the duel.
A loud clang resounded, accompanied by a jolt that ran up the length of his sword arm. Plake opened his eyes. To his absolute astonishment, he found the crystal sword situated between himself and Drekk’t’s blade. It took him a moment to realize he had blocked the attack.
Remembering what Opal had told him of the crystal sword, Plake could only assume that the magic of the sword had been activated.
The revelation—and the relief that came with it—was nearly enough to knock him over. He might have shut his eyes again, surrendering his fate to the miraculous sword, but he wasn’t certain whether the crystal sword could see on its own or if it needed to use his eyes. When Drekk’t took a second swing, directing his weapon at his midsection, Plake resisted the urge to move.
Once again, the crystal sword snapped up, knocking Drekk’t’s blade aside. Plake then took a step forward and jabbed his weapon at the general’s breast. Drekk’t sidestepped the lunge and countered with another stroke.
In a maneuver that belied the fogginess in his brain, Plake altered his stance, shifting his balance to his back leg, and yanked the crystal sword in an upward motion. The blade clipped Drekk’t’s sword, knocking the goblin’s blade up above his head and providing Plake with a more-than-generous opening.
Plake plunged the crystal sword into the center of Drekk’t’s chest—or rather, where it would have been if Drekk’t hadn’t leaped back out of range.
With no control over his actions, Plake pressed his attack, flinging himself at the goblin general with a series of cross-body slashes. Drekk’t could do nothing but parry the attacks, backpedaling with every collision of the two blades.
Content to be the crystal sword’s instrument, Plake heeded the unheard commands of the crystal sword. He knew with all certainty that the weapon would find a way to defeat Drekk’t on its own.
If not, he was a dead man.
* * *
With an unintelligible cry on his lips, Drekk’t threw himself at Colt, putting all of his strength behind his swing. He ignored the doubt that lurked in the back of his mind, threatening to steal his resolve.
Colt had bested him twice, but by Upsinous’s black heart, it would not happen again!
He saw Colt hesitate, but at the last possible moment, the Knight reacted. The glassy blade whirred through the air, striking Drekk’t’s sword. The collision of the two weapons caused Drekk’t to recoil slightly. Despite the goblin’s superior strength, Colt had not budged in the least.
He took another swing, which Colt effortlessly blocked. Drekk’t marveled at Colt’s technique. It was as though the man was calculating the probable result of every possible move and executing the action that would have the greatest effect with the least amount of motion—all within a fraction of a second!
In no time at all, Drekk’t found himself on the retreat, dodging and parrying the deadly blur of the crystalline blade.
Every time he managed to block the sword, pain shot through his left arm. His wounded shoulder was bound tightly in a tourniquet, but that did not protect him from the waves of agony that assailed him with every parry.
Drekk’t would have preferred to face Colt with a sword in one hand and a knife in the other—as he had during his duel with Gaelor Petton—but he dared not use his left arm for anything other than keeping his balance. And since there was nothing he could do to stop the pain, he gritted his teeth and fought through it.
Drekk’t quickly grew frustrated with his opponent’s ability to flawlessly defend against his every attack. It didn’t seem fair—didn’t seem possible. He recalled then how Colt had jumped clear over him during their last fight…
He could not hope to match Colt sword for sword, but he was not ready to give up. A plan was already unfolding in his mind, and he seized it with the desperation and zeal of a hyena biting into a lion’s neck.
Drekk’t waited for his chance, and when it came, he let out a roar.
* * *
Plake’s muscles were sore and cramped. Beneath his armor, his sweaty skin was beginning to chafe. He breathed heavily, and his heart pumped so fast he feared it would explode in his chest. But Plake dared not deny the will of the crystal sword.
Better to feel like you’re on death’s doorstep than actually cross the threshold, he thought.
Despite the fact he was gaining ground, Plake worried the goblin would end up winning from stamina alone. With every stroke of the crystal sword, Plake prayed to the gods that the weapon would reach its target. Yet Drekk’t expertly
evaded the string of attacks, blocking those swings that he could and avoiding those he could not.
How long could it go on?
Plake thought he found his answer when Drekk’t presented him with a wide opening. He thrust the tip of the crystal sword at Drekk’t’s chest. The goblin had no time to sidestep the attack. Plake was sure he had won.
But then Drekk’t roared and thrust out his own sword. Even to Plake, who knew next to nothing of sword fighting, the move seemed incredibly foolish. It was as though Drekk’t was willing to accept Plake’s blow, even as he dealt one of his own.
Plake cringed, waiting for the cold steel to pierce his body.
The tip of Drekk’t’s sword met with that of the crystal sword. Plake expected both weapons’ momentum to carry them past each other, sliding onward toward their new fleshy sheaths. The result would see them both skewered. Plake could only watch Drekk’t’s blade draw nearer.
Rather than aim for Plake’s body, however, the goblin kept the tip of his blade tight against the crystal sword, encircling the blade again and again. Plake mindlessly mimicked the movement, his wrist straining to maintain hold of the sword. Meanwhile, Drekk’t’s blade swirled ever closer. The look of it reminded Plake of an uncoiling snake.
It occurred to Plake that, if unchecked, the goblin’s sword would soon reach his forearm. Reason had it that the crystal sword would find Drekk’t’s sword arm too. Was this a game of chicken then?
Or would the winner be the one with the longer blade?
All of these things flashed through Plake’s mind as the entwining blade wound its way toward him. Plake winced, imaging the excruciating pain that would come with losing his hand. But then, suddenly, his wrist jerked outward.
Drekk’t’s sword went flying harmlessly to the side.
The crystal sword went with it.
Plake stared stupidly at where the two weapons landed. He saw Drekk’t lunge at him, but did not immediately react. He had grown accustomed to his body moving without his command. Plake uttered a quiet whimper an instant before the goblin plowed into him, knocking him onto his back and blasting the air from his lungs.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 119