Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (35 page)

“But
that is all over now. Thanks to that midge…and now you people…my cover has been
compromised. There is no help for it now…though I suppose I could eliminate all
witnesses, swatting you all like the pesky flies you are. However, over the
centuries, I have learned that that tends to draw more attention in the end.

“No,
you and I must come to an understanding. What is your name, young man?”

Arthur
made a couple of futile attempts to speak before stammering out his name.

“I
am not the villain they make me out to be, Arthur,” Albert said, proffering a
smile that made Arthur shiver. “I do not know who you and your friends are.
Neither do I care. The everyday affairs of the mundane do not concern me…and
yet perhaps you can be of assistance. It is obvious you want to be left alone.
I too value privacy, and I intend to make this mountain my home.”

Albert
pointed to the tall peak that towered over Port Stone—Wizard’s Mountain, Scout
had called it.

“If
anyone…and I do mean
anyone
…trespasses on my mountain, not only will I
kill them, but I will find you, Arthur, and before freeing you from this mortal
coil, you will beg for death.”

Arthur
flinched as the wizard patted his head. “You will do well to remember our
covenant. What I have done today is a mere trifle compared to all that I am
capable of.”

A
flash of white light engulfed the wizard. Arthur shielded his eyes, afraid that
the spell-caster had decided to melt the flesh from his body after all. But the
unnatural radiance vanished as quickly as it had come, taking Albert
Simplington with it.

Arthur
might have stared dumbly at that patch of earth for the rest of the day had a
sound off to his right not diverted his attention. The door of the one of the
houses flew off its wasted hinges, and Pistol extricated himself from the
dilapidated structure.

Brushing
off shards of glass and splinters, Pistol cursed and said, “Gods, I hate
magic.”

Arthur
took a step toward the pirate and then fainted.

*
         
*
         
*

It
took a lot to persuade Lieutenant Petton that allowing Colt—and Colt alone—to
handle the midge was in everybody’s best interest. Colt was on the verge of
issuing Petton a direct order when the older Knight finally conceded. He
stormed away to attend to other duties, but not before aiming one last frown at
Noel.

Colt
could understand why the lieutenant was concerned. Noel had already managed to
chase away one of the fort’s residents during his short visit. But Colt knew he
would have a much easier time dealing with Noel alone, which meant that the
dwarf had to go too.

The
problem was Colt had no true authority over Cholk—other than that of a landlord,
he supposed. Colt argued and then pleaded until Cholk finally agreed to let
Colt do things his way. There was one condition, however. Colt must send for
him immediately should the little storyteller cause any more trouble.

As
the dark-skinned dwarf stomped down the hallway, leaving Colt alone with Noel
at last, he muttered something about how tomorrow he would surely wake and find
a family of minotaurs at the fort.

Sir
Petton had been on his way to give Colt a letter from Fort Miloásterôn before getting
interrupted by Noel and Albert’s spat. Colt now held that missive in his hands.
He was eager to break the wax seal and read it. Aside from the short letter of
welcome he had received from the Celestial Palace in Rydah, the Knights at Fort
Faith had heard nothing at all from the island’s other forts.

As
much as Colt wanted to know what Commander Fredmont Calhoun had to say, he had
to deal with Noel first. The sooner he and Noel spoke, the sooner he could send
the midge on his way.

Colt
offered to escort the short spell-caster to the war room, a large chamber in
the western wing that Colt had converted into his private office, but Noel
insisted on having breakfast first.

Reluctantly,
Colt agreed, and the two of them walked together to the dining room, where some
of the nightshift sentries were just finishing their meal. With steaming bowls
of porridge before them, the midge began to talk.

Unfortunately,
Noel mostly asked questions about Colt’s past, his family, and his
responsibilities at Fort Faith. Colt patiently answered them. By the time he
managed to work in a question of his own—namely, why had Noel come to Fort
Faith—the midge lifted his bowl up to his lips and gulped down the remainder of
his meal.

Disarming
Colt with a toothy smile, and dismissing the question entirely, the midge asked
Colt for a tour of the fortress.

Colt
agreed on the condition he and Noel talked as they walked. And talk they did,
but once again, the midge assailed him with countless queries, asking about
everything from how old the fort was and who had built it to the purpose of
every individual room. Colt was so frustrated by the time they got to his
bedroom on the third floor he suggested they take a break.

“Do
you want to know the reason I’m here?” Noel asked, plopping down on Colt’s bed.

Colt
had to take a deep breath before saying, “Yes, I do.”

For
the next hour or so, Noel regaled Colt with the highlights of his life’s story,
insisting it was always best to start at the beginning. And so Colt could only
sit there, hoping Noel would get to the point before the day was spent. When it
became apparent that Noel’s story was more tall tale than true biography, Colt
closed his eyes and resisted the urge to lie back and fall asleep.

“I’ve
never seen anything like it before or since,” Noel was saying, using his small
hands to demonstrate the dimensions of yet another monster he had battled. “It
had one really huge eye that always looked surprised with hundreds of octopus
arms that were always wiggling around, like they were on fire or something. And
the noise it made! It sounded like a bunch of people screaming all at once. It
was very, very scary. We wouldn’t have even bothered with the creature except
we needed the treasure it was guarding, which contained this weird rock that
could make anything fly.”

“Wait,”
Colt interjected when Noel finally took a breath. “What does any of this have
to do with why you are here at Fort Faith?”

Noel’s
face fell. “I’m getting to that part, but first I have to tell you how I saved
this
other
world. Then you’ll understand that the gods really did send
me to help you save this one.”

His
sanity slowly slipping away, Colt was grateful when they were interrupted by a
knock at the door. But when he heard what Sir Gregory Wessner, the stableman,
had to say, Colt thought that he might have preferred to stay in Noel’s
imaginary world a little longer.

“Pardon
my intrusion,” Sir Wessner said, his eyes lingering on the midge, “but I
thought you should know Opal’s horse has returned to the stable…but Opal has
not.”

Passage VI

Her
hands bound securely behind her back, Opal was led farther and farther from
Fort Faith. Klye Tristan and Scout walked before her, while the woman, her
fancy sword at the ready, and the archer brought up the rear. They were herding
her westward, across the plain.

She
might have screamed if not for the gag they had fashioned out of the sleeve of
her riding jacket—not that she supposed there was any help nearby. The soggy
wool tasted terrible. Though her breathing had returned to its normal rate, her
heart still raced.

Were
it not for the archer, she might have attempted another escape, but even if she
could avoid the female Renegade’s blade, she could never outrun an arrow.

Their
pace was slow, thanks to her injured leg. Klye was impatient at first. When he
mentioned carrying her, Opal gave him her fiercest glare and cursed him through
the soggy gag. Apparently, that was enough to dissuade the Renegade Leader from
hauling her around like a sack of flour.

She
wondered why they didn’t beat her unconscious and drag her to their
destination.

As
they walked, she studied her captors. She had expected them to display a
triumphant air as they returned to their camp, but none of them were smiling.
Klye was particularly morose. He glanced back at her occasionally, and she
wondered what he was thinking, what he had planned for her. She couldn’t help
but grin beneath her gag when she saw the man wipe at the blood dripping down
his cheek.

Scout
and the woman had earned some bruises while wrestling the arrow from her hand,
but it was Klye Tristan who learned that this cat had claws. Seeing those three
red lines gouged into his cheek lifted her spirits a little. She vowed that she
would make her captivity as difficult for the Renegades as possible. They would
regret the day they ever laid eyes on her.

The
Renegades spoke little as they guided her across the plain, but Opal had
learned a thing or two about them from the sparse conversations she overheard.
Trying to keep her mind off the pain that lanced up her leg at every step, she
reviewed what she knew about Klye Tristan’s band of Renegades.

Klye
had spoken of returning to “the others,” so there must be more rebels nearby.
Scout had mentioned an inn, but the closest town in the direction they were
heading was on the other side of the mountains. Unless they were taking her to
the abandoned Port of Stone…a perfect hideout for a bunch of outlaws.

Scout
and the blond woman had a short conversation about someone named Horcalus.
Apparently, they had been looking for him when they had happened upon her.
Judging by Klye’s expression, he would have traded her for Horcalus in a
heartbeat. If Horcalus was a Renegade and the Knights found him before his
friends did, such a trade was not impossible, though Opal planned to free
herself long before the Knights learned of her captivity.

After
what felt like hours, they finally reached the port. The archer and the woman
took her to a sturdy-looking building the color of faded daffodil pedals. She
decided not to attempt an escape while the two Renegades secured her to a chair
with a rope. Although there were only two of them, Opal had no idea how many
more Renegades were lurking about.

She
would learn all she could—including how many of them there were in all—before
escaping. Patience was not typically a virtue of hers, but Opal knew her life
was at stake. The Renegades had wanted to take her alive, but they would surely
cut her down if she forced their hand.

She
would have to wait for the right moment to catch them unawares.

A
few minutes after the female Renegade finished her handiwork with the rope,
Scout and Klye entered the common room, followed by four men.

“Did
you find Horcalus?” one of them was asking. He was a young thing with an
innocent face and hair almost as red as her own.

Before
Klye Tristan could answer, another Renegade pointed at her and asked, “Hey, who
is she?”

“We
don’t know her name. It seems that that mouth of hers is only good for spitting
and swearing. But Scout is certain she lives at Fort Faith. As long as we have
her, the Knights will think twice before attacking us.”

“Our
first prisoner,” the other Renegade joked, taking a step closer to ogle their
captive.

“What
happened to your face, Klye?” asked another man.

Klye
brought his hand up to the wound. “Never mind that. What was it you were saying
about a wizard?”

The
four men all started talking at once. Klye silenced them by holding up a hand.
Then he motioned for a man with the eyepatch to continue. Opal’s ears perked up
upon hearing Albert Simplington’s name.

Her
eyes widened when the man spoke of Albert’s transformation. Were it not for the
midge’s claim that the old doctor was a wizard, she might have suspected the
Renegades were making it up, but it was too coincidental. She felt lightheaded
as a man with an eyepatch summarized what Albert had told them.

When
the one-eyed man finished talking, Klye turned to the youngest Renegade. “And
this wizard just wants to be left alone? You are certain he wasn’t looking for
Horcalus?”

Arthur
shook his head. “He never said anything about Horcalus. He didn’t even know we
were Renegades.”

She
could almost see the Renegade Leader’s mind at work, trying to put the pieces
together. But Opal, who knew more about Albert Simplington than any of them,
couldn’t puzzle it out either.

“Yet
another complication,” Klye muttered.

“Is
everybody all right?” the blond woman asked. “You don’t look like you battled a
wizard.”

The
man with the patch replied, “I was lucky not to break any bones. Seems I got
the worst of it. Crooker and Plake were numb for a bit, but now there’s not
even a mark to show where the magic struck ’em. The wizard didn’t do a thing to
Arthur, except threaten him.”

Klye
shook his head. “Well, if the wizard wants to be left alone, he’ll get his
wish. We’re leaving this gods-forsaken place. Spell-casters aside, the Knights
are bound to come looking for Red. It’s only a matter of time before they show
up here.”

“But
what about the wizard?” Arthur asked. “If the Knights search Wizard’s Mountain
for her, Albert will take out his vengeance on me!”

Klye
dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “He was bluffing…and even if he
wasn’t, he’ll get the same reception Lilac gave Dark Lily. Wizards aren’t
invincible.”

The
boy didn’t look convinced.

“So
where are we going?” Scout asked.

Opal
leaned forward. If she knew their destination, she might be able to guess the
route they would take. And if she knew that, she could choose the best place to
make her escape.

But
the Renegade Leader shrugged. “I don’t know yet. You and I will have to figure
that out. The rest of you, get everything ready to move out. We’re leaving as
soon as we can.”

Plake,
Crooker, and Patch-Eye seemed all too eager to be gone from Port Stone. They
and the woman, Lilac, left the common room. Arthur lingered, blocking Scout and
Klye’s path.

“What
about Horcalus?” he asked. “If we leave, he won’t know where to find us.”

So
Horcalus
is
a Renegade, Opal thought.

“I
haven’t given up on Horcalus,” Klye assured the boy. “But we can’t stick around
Port Stone any longer. The Knights will suspect trouble when Red doesn’t
return, and Port Stone will probably be the first place they look.”

The
boy didn’t look satisfied with the Renegade Leader’s answer, but he too left
the common room. Klye and Scout followed him down the hall, which, she assumed,
led to the guestrooms.

Opal
let out a breath when the last of the rebels were gone. She could hardly
believe it; they had left her all alone! She immediately began to struggle
against her bonds, twisting her wrists to stretch the rope and wriggle one of
her hands out. The knot was tight, but she pulled at it anyway, imagining
breaking free, finding her knife, and stabbing each and every Renegade in the
back before returning to Fort Faith.

She
would start with Klye Tristan…

“You’ll
only hurt yourself.”

Opal
stiffened. Turning her head in the direction of the voice, she found a tall
figure standing near a window near the front of the inn. She had forgotten
about the archer. She let her arms go limp and swore, her colorful words
sounding like nonsense thanks to the gag.

The
archer’s face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. The man’s eyes were green, like
her own, but they were brighter, catching the light in a most fascinating way.
Like morning dew glistening on a leaf, she thought.

The
man crossed the common room in a few even strides. To her surprise, he bent
down and removed the gag from her mouth.

“How
is your leg?” he asked, his voice deep and soft.

“You
mean the one you shot?” she snarled.

She
expected to find something new in those strange eyes—ridicule or maybe
remorse—but the archer’s expression didn’t alter in the least. He had tended to
her wound in the woods, wrapping another piece of her jacket tightly around her
calf. His touch had been firm but gentle.

Kneeling
before her now, the archer loosened the rope that held her to the chair and
unraveled her bandage. She briefly considered kicking him in the face with her
uninjured leg. Her hands were still tied behind her back, but she knew she
could slip them over the top of the chair once her legs were free.

All
she had to do was overpower her lone guard, and she would be free…

The
archer withdrew something from his pocket, a pouch of some kind. He said
nothing, didn’t even look up at her, as he started to rub the contents of the
pouch onto her wound. She sucked in her breath sharply, expecting the pressure
to produce pain, but despite his large, calloused hands, the archer wasn’t at all
clumsy.

The
salve felt wet and cold at first, but as he spread it over her wound, her skin
began to tingle and grow warm. Soon, her leg didn’t hurt at all. As he wrapped
a new bandage around her leg, she again considered striking out.

“My
name is Othello,” he told her as he secured her legs to the chair once more.

“I’m
Opal.”

Had
her hands been free, she might have clapped them over her mouth. She hadn’t
volunteered any information to Klye before he jammed the gag in her mouth. It
was as if her mouth had spoken without permission.

But
Othello was just making conversation, she realized, not interrogating.

“You
seem too kind to be a Renegade,” she told him, flashing him a big smile. She
had learned long ago that flattery was a useful tool in dealing with men.

“You
seem too free-spirited to be a Knight.” He had finished with the rope but
remained kneeling at eye level with her.

“Of
course I’m not a Knight,” she said coyly, affecting the voice she used when
teasing the soldiers at Fort Faith.

“You
live among Knights,” Othello said.

“Yes,
but that doesn’t mean—”

“You
have friends among the Knights and would fight for their cause,” he added.

“True,
but—”

“Then
you are as much a Knight as I am a Renegade.”

Opal
closed her mouth, pondering Othello’s words. She had missed her opportunity to
escape, but a part of her wasn’t at all sorry that she hadn’t attacked the
archer. She thought about pretending to cry, hoping her tears would lead the
man to greater acts of mercy, but before she could say or do anything, Othello
replaced her gag.

When
Othello returned to his post over by the door, she defiantly held her gaze in
the opposite direction. As the minutes slipped by, she tried to focus all of
her thoughts on escaping, but her odd conversation with the archer replayed
itself in her mind.

*
         
*
         
*

Colt
pulled at his breastplate, working it in several directions to test the
integrity of the buckles. He found no fault with the armor. The joints in the
pauldrons were well greased, as was the visor of his helm. The small, round
shield he had used since his first days as a squire sported only a few scrapes
and dents.

He
strapped
Chrysaal-rûn
to his side, looped an arm through the strap of
his buckler, cradled his headpiece in the crook of his arm, and headed for the
door. In lieu of cuisses and greaves, he wore trousers made tough, boiled
leathers, not wanting his legs to be hindered by the bulky metal encasings.

It
occurred to him that Opal had never seen him fully bedecked in the garb of his
profession. He was tempted to don the plate mail for his lower body as well but
dismissed the notion. He was too worried about the woman to concern himself
with looking heroic.