The shaman did not rise.
Opal let out a laugh. Or maybe it was a cry. The next thing she knew she was lying on her back. Not understanding how she had gotten there—and not caring either—she could no longer fight back against the darkness that enveloped the pale sky above her.
* * *
Klye was completely cut off from his allies. A ring of monsters were toying with him, jabbing at him with spears, pole-axes, and weapons he had never seen before. They cursed at him, though whatever spell had translated their words earlier had expired.
“Come on, you heartless bastards!” Klye shouted, holding his rapier and dagger out in front of him.
The circle of fiends tightened, but before the lot of them could strike, one side was overtaken from behind. Klye did not question his fortune. He instantly turned and began fighting off the goblins behind him.
“Looks like we got here just in time,” Hunter said as she buried her spear into the breast of a goblin she had tripped a moment before.
Klye might have gawked at the three Hylaners—along with the company of Knights they had brought with them—but there wasn’t time for anything but combat. For next few minutes, the Renegade Leader fought beside the newcomers, concentrating solely on keeping the ever-increasing goblins at bay.
When the immediate threat had been repelled, Klye tried to catch his breath. That’s when he noticed that the sky was being swallowed up by black, roiling clouds. Crimson streaks of lightning danced from thunderhead to thunderhead, and the thunder nearly deafened him.
“—the hells is going on?” Hunter gasped.
The sight reminded Klye of how a priest had once described the end of the world. Of course, Klye didn’t believe in the gods, so he was ready to dismiss the phenomenon as an effect of the shaman’s vuudu.
But what he saw next was nearly enough to convince him that gods truly existed—that they existed and that they were vengeful beings, to be sure!
Passage XVI
Ay’sek lay in the filthy snow, his heavy robes soaking up the cold moisture around him. He felt none of winter’s chill, however. Nor did he feel any pain. The commander’s glowing mace had shattered his spine, paralyzing him from the neck down.
If he hadn’t leeched so much of Stannel’s strength beforehand, the shaman was certain he would already be dead.
He coughed and gasped for air, expelling flecks of bloody froth with every labored breath. Storm clouds swirled above him, and what he saw next confirmed his suspicions that Death was coming for him.
A mammoth raven hovered overhead, its silhouette made murky and nebulous by the darkening sky above it. The creature’s wingspan stretched from one horizon to another. Its oily feathers seemed to suck up the vivid flashes of lightning. Talons the size of ballistae reached out from beneath the nightmarish bird. A pair of ruby-colored eyes glared down at the shaman.
At first, Ay’sek feared the Goblinfather had come to carry him off to the Pit to be tortured endlessly for his failures. He watched, spellbound and terrified, as the awful bird tucked back its wings. But rather than plummet to the earth, the bird defied gravity while its gigantic legs stretched down toward the ground.
Feathers rained down, covering the creature’s legs in a veil of darkness. The oily plumage also formed a cowl around its neck. Eventually, the hood concealed the bird’s head and beak—though no shadow could extinguish the fiery eyes smoldering within.
Now the Emperor of T’Ruel no longer resembled a bird at all.
Ay’sek tried to call out to his sovereign, who floating a few yards above the ground. He would have begged for mercy, begged for life, but he could manage no more than a soft whimper. He could feel his strength draining like water through a sieve.
Any moment now, his spirit would fly free from his body—only this time, there would be no coming back.
* * *
A moment before, Stannel could barely keep his eyes open. Now he could not tear his gaze away from the great black bird suspended above the battlefield.
The vileness of the thing made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He could feel the malevolence, the hatred, pelting him like balls of hail. His rational mind told him that what he saw could not be real, and yet he knew it was more than an illusion.
Stannel shielded his eyes from the blinding darkness and glanced around the plain. Each and every goblin had broken off his attack and was regarding the bird with an expression of awe and terror. Thousands of them had fallen to their knees—some to their faces—paying homage to the enormous raven.
He looked up in time to see the bird take on a more upright form. A coat of coalescing shadow now clothed the being as completely as the feathers had before. The hateful red eyes alone remained unchanged.
The dark giant, whose height rivaled that of nearby Fort Valor, seemed content to stare down at the warriors for the moment. Stannel tensed, waiting for the storm of spells that would wipe him and his allies from the face of Altaerra.
Several long minutes passed, and nothing happened. Then, as one, the goblin army began to stir. Despite the dizziness that threatened to steal his consciousness every time he moved, Stannel forced his body into a defensive stance. His strength was spent, but Pintor’s might was endless. As though in response to that very thought, a refreshing sensation surged from the mace into his arm.
But the goblins did not attack. In fact, against all reason, the invaders were walking away. Some turned around, heading back the way they had come. Others—those who had been heading north—resumed their march, falling to either side of Fort Valor like a stream parting before a great stone.
Goblins who had been fighting for their lives only moments before turned their backs on the humans. The injured did their best to keep up. One unfortunate goblin was forced to drag himself along, having lost one entire leg and a part of the other.
Like the other humans, Stannel could only stare, dumbstruck, as the foreign army made an orderly retreat. He expected that the goblins would take action against the fortress, but as far as he could tell, none of them were giving the fort a second glance as they passed by. He looked to the shaman for an explanation, but the dark-robed goblin was dead.
Above him, the cloaked figure watched the goblin army march away. When the last of the soldiers had passed beyond Fort Valor, the towering creature lowered its huge, hooded head to stare down at the humans.
It occurred to Stannel that the godlike figure had sent his minions away so that it could rain down fire and brimstone without fear of taking out his own followers. But it was too late to do anything about that now. He could only wait to see what happened next—wait and pray.
You should consider yourself very lucky.
The words exploded into Stannel’s mind, and he reflexively covered his ears in an effort to shut out the loud and painful rumbling.
This war is over. My armies will leave your lands without further incident.
Although he understood the giant’s words, Stannel could not fathom the reasoning behind them.
You could not begin to comprehend the complexities of the situation. I have ruled over T’Ruel for countless centuries, expanding the empire with each passing year. This was not our first attempt to take land in the East, and it will not be the last.
But for now, you need not fear invasion…at least not from us.
“Why suffer us to live?” Stannel demanded, not knowing whether or not the goblin monarch could hear him. “If you think we would willingly relinquish that accursed staff—”
Stannel clutched ay his head again, as the Emperor of T’Ruel’s sudden laughter threatened to split his skull.
You may keep the staff, Commander. Consider it a consolation. I know how much you Knights value honor and valor, and your victory in this war is bereft of both. This ends only because I say it does.
As for the staff, I have seen the future…distant and near. Peerma’rek will be of more use to our cause if it remains with you.
The human nati
ons are powerful…so long as they remain united. But that which is gathered can be scattered once more, and it is always easier to destroy than to build.
One day, the goblin empire will span the entire world. We will rule over all other races, even as Upsinous enslaves the lesser deities. In the meantime, I suggest you celebrate your hollow victory while you can.
“We will be ready for you when you return,” Stannel promised.
The terrible, mocking laughter filled his head again, but Stannel refused to take his eyes off of the twin orbs of red.
You will be long dead by the time T’Ruel again lays claim to this land, Commander. The consequences of this war are beyond your understanding. Before long, your nation will again feel the caress of war.
The massive shape of the Emperor began to fade. In a matter of seconds, it was as though the Emperor had not been there at all. Some of the Knights let out a cheer, but Stannel did not join in. He was not prepared to trust the Emperor’s word that he and his army would withdraw in peace.
And yet the Great Protector had shepherded them through their darkest hour…
With the goblin army gone, Stannel could make out the snowy landscape in the distance, and he thought that he had never seen so lovely a sight. The grisly scene of the battlefield, however, reminded him that if the humans had really won, their victory had come at a high price.
Then again, by Stannel’s estimation, there were no such thing as a happy ending when it came to war.
* * *
By the time Klye got back to the fort, his legs were so tired they could barely support him. From noon to dark, they—the Renegades, Knights, and the men and women who had hidden in the passageway that morning—had spent the majority of the day carrying the wounded back into Fort Valor and gathering the dead.
Klye had wondered why Stannel would bother with corpses of the enemy. The goblins themselves didn’t care about their fallen comrades. But the commander had insisted, and so every dead goblin was added to what became a massive funeral pyre.
“We will treat our foes with the honor they could not achieve in life,” Stannel had told him. “But there is also the matter of sanitation. Who could say what diseases would fester here during the spring thaw?”
Klye wouldn’t have been surprised if Stannel had lumped the dead humans and goblins together. The commander seemed to respect the goblins a hell of a lot more than Klye did. But as it was, the fallen men and women would be buried, not burned.
Saerylton Crystalus was to join that number. Othello might have been placed in the mass grave too, except that no one—not Stannel, not Opal—could say precisely where the forester had died. By all reason, some forest predator had already dragged the body away.
Though that prospect was better than being eaten by the goblins, in Klye’s opinion, he thought Othello deserved the honor of being buried with the other defenders of Fort Valor. And seeing the forester one last time would have made it easier for them all to accept that they would never see their friend again.
Klye briefly considered visiting Plake in the infirmary, but after hauling corpses around all day, he headed to the Renegade Room to retire instead. According to Ruben, who had carried word from Sister Aric, Plake’s injuries were superficial anyway. Mostly, the rancher’s muscles were just cramped.
Klye could believe that, having witnessed Plake’s unbelievably coordinated movements during the duel with Drekk’t. Klye knew now that the crystal sword had guided Plake’s actions.
Pity the thing had exploded…
Horcalus, Arthur, Scout, and Lilac followed him into the Renegade Room, none of them saying anything. They were all ready to call it a day. Tomorrow would be even worse, Klye figured. It would take a long time to dig the mass grave.
The Renegade Leader had not forgotten that he and his band were still the Knights’ prisoners, and who better than prisoners to help with hard labor? Klye’s lips curled into a wry smile. At least after being cooped up in the fort for so long, we’ll be getting some fresh air, he thought.
One by one, the Renegades slumped to the floor with a chorus of groans and sighs. By all rights, they should be celebrating. The goblins were gone, and the war was over. The arrival of the Emperor had been a surreal event, however, and he could not yet wrap his mind around the idea that they were no longer in peril.
“Pardon my intrusion…”
Klye looked over at the door and found Stannel Bismarc standing there. Although Klye had not witnessed Stannel’s clash with the shaman, he had heard tell of it again and again throughout the day. The goblin had been in the process of draining Stannel’s life when Opal had fired an arrow into the shaman’s neck. Stannel had finished the job with his enchanted mace.
That Stannel could still stand was a miracle, as far as Klye was concerned. He had been the victim of that same vuudu spell and had been bedridden for weeks after the incident. Stannel had undeniably come through in better condition.
Either Stannel had not been as close to death as Klye, or the commander’s god had protected him from the brunt of the magical assault. Since Klye wasn’t ready to allow for the existence of a pantheon, he decided the former must be true.
“It’s no intrusion,” Klye said. “Won’t you please have a seat?”
He motioned at the floor—the furniture had been chopped up for the Knights on the battlements to throw at the goblins scaling the walls—but although Stannel exuded weariness, he declined the invitation with a wave of his hand.
“I will not stay long. We all need our rest.” Stannel glanced to the right of the Renegades, at the empty half of the room. “Where are the Hylaners?”
“Hunter was dealt a nasty blow,” Lilac said, “though she didn’t realize it until after the battle. I saw Ruben escort her to the infirmary. Bly and Pillip are probably with her.”
“And what about your friend?” Stannel asked.
Klye scoffed. “Plake? He’ll live…which is more than he deserves.”
“Perhaps it’s more than any of us deserves,” Stannel said.
Shrugging, Klye replied, “You’re probably right. But then again, who’s to say the goblins are really gone for good?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Stannel sighed, “which is what brings me here, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am granting you Renegades a full pardon for the role you played in defending this fort.”
Klye opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find the words to express his…what…surprise? Gratitude? Apprehension?
His eyes met those of Lilac’s. The woman’s smile stretched clear across her face. Arthur and Scout grinned too. Klye wondered if Scout would want to leave for Port Town right away. The prospect of seeing Leslie Beryl again filled Klye with an unexpected feeling of anxiousness. He wondered how he could get out of going back there without splitting up the band.
“Do you have the power to pardon us?” Klye asked, almost accusingly. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. You’ve already done so much…”
“As Commander of Fort Valor…and this place will be called Fort Valor unless someone goes to the trouble of changing it to something else…I have the authority to make a great many decisions.”
Stannel turned to face Horcalus. “Unfortunately, I cannot reinstate you as a Knight of Superius. However, you have my promise that I will do all in my power to convince those who can that you and the late Chester Ragellan are worthy of your previous titles.”
Dominic Horcalus could not hope to hide his joy at Stannel’s promise—though the man tried his damnedest. “You have my gratitude, Commander.”
Even when he had been at the mercy of Gaelor Petton’s command, Klye had maintained control over his and the Renegades’ situation. But now, Klye felt powerless. The events of the Renegade War, followed immediately by the Goblin War, had dictated his actions.
Now that the fighting was over, what would he and his men do?
“So…we are free to go?” Klye
asked.
“Of course,” Stannel began, “but I had rather hoped you might do me one final favor.”
“Name it.”
“I need a small party to follow the goblins and make certain they truly leave Capricon without wreaking further havoc.”
Klye nearly declared an oath to do so but caught himself at the last minute. He looked to his Renegades, few as they were, praying they felt the same way he did.
“Well, I really did want to go and see Leslie,” Scout said with a sigh, “but if the goblins are leaving, she’s probably not in danger anymore. All right. I’m up for it. It seems like we’ve been sitting around this fort for ages.”
Lilac and Horcalus answered with nods, which was enough for Klye.
“We’ll do it,” Klye told Stannel. “We’ll leave at first light.”
“I would have liked for Opal to join you,” Stannel said. “She has few enough friends these days. But I fear it will take some time for her leg to heal.”
Klye thought it was just as well—Opal was no friend of the Renegades, after all—but he said nothing to the concerned Knight.
“You might find that much has changed by the time you get back,” Stannel continued. “I have spoken with Ruford Berwyn, and there seems to be an interest among the refugees to repopulate Port Stone.”
“Really?” Scout jumped to his feet. “No one’s lived there for a long time. Why the sudden interest in it now?”
“Many from the East have lost their homes. Those who survived the ruination of Rydah must start over, and those who have lost their loved ones in Hylan want to start afresh.”
An image of the ghost town flashed in Klye’s mind. Port Stone would need a lot of work, but he couldn’t blame the refugees for wanting a place of their own. After all, the members of Colt’s Army weren’t the only ones who lacked a home.
After Stannel left, Klye decided he ought to go see how Plake was faring. If nothing else, he needed to confirm whether or the rancher would be well enough to join them in shadowing the goblin army. A part of him hoped that Sister Aric wouldn’t allow it. Then again, gods only knew what kind of trouble Plake would get into while the other Renegades were gone.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 121