Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

“It’s
not that I don’t trust her,” the half-elf said, “I simply know how easily
overwhelmed she gets. I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do.”

Leslie
dabbed at Klye’s brow with cool water and spoke reassuring words she prayed
were true. About an hour later, Scout arrived. She awoke with a start,
embarrassed to find she had fallen asleep with her head resting on Klye’s
chest.

Scout
leaned against doorframe of the room. “You’re awfully jumpy.”

Trying
not to blush but failing, Leslie asked, “Just tell me what you’ve learned.”

“You’re
not going to like it,” he warned her, the smile vanishing from his lips. “By
the time I reached Oars and Omens, the inn was already ablaze. I don’t know how
many escaped. There were a lot of corpses outside the place, guardsmen and
pirates alike. I heard someone say that the pirates who surrendered at the end
were immediately run through by the guards. The pirate king was the only one
they didn’t kill.”

“Probably
saving him for a public execution,” Leslie said with a sigh.

When
Maeve Semper had been discovered as a Renegade agent, she was arrested by her
former pier guard comrades. The mayor had planned to hang Maeve in the City
Square as an example, but she had escaped on her own before daylight.

“There
was one other prisoner,” Scout said. “He isn’t a pirate, though. His name is
Chester Ragellan, a Knight of Superius who is wanted for conspiring with the
Renegades.”

“A
rogue knight…I’d bet my best bustle he’s a member of Klye’s band.”

“Do
you even own a bustle?” Scout asked.

“It’s
an expression.”

“Well,
I’ve never heard it before.”

While
bickering with Solomon Aegis, her friend since childhood, had become second
nature, Leslie was in no mood to argue tonight. She felt like Veldross’s
barmaid, beleaguered by all the many things that demanded her attention.

The
Pirates of the Fractured Skull were either dead or gone, according to Scout’s
report. The pirate king was imprisoned, along with one of Klye’s men. Klye
himself was ill, and the city guards were watching Elezar. Then there was that
letter to Domacles that had seemed so important earlier…

Well,
Domacles and his Renegades would have to wait. As much as she wanted to unite
the Renegades of the island into a cohesive force, she had to get her own
affairs in order first. Her fingers tracing the smooth curve of the ankh,
Leslie began to construct a plan.

*
         
*
         
*

The
smell of sweat, urine, and worse hung thick in the air. Ragellan’s cell was
pitch black, but walking the perimeter revealed it to be larger than the cell
he and Horcalus had shared in the Citadel Dungeon. Neither had Port Town’s
guards restricted his arms or legs.

Thank
the gods for small favors, he thought.

He
imagined Horcalus would be pacing were he there too, but the younger knight had
escaped—or so he hoped. He needed to believe Horcalus and the others had gotten
away safely, for the alternative was too terrible to entertain.

Ragellan
had watched in horror as one of the finer-dressed city guards ordered his men to
kill the remaining Pirates of the Fractured Skull. Only one other prisoner had
been taken, Ragellan’s cellmate. The pirate king.

As
a former commander, Ragellan empathized with the man. The guards had had no
right to execute the unarmed pirates, criminals though they were. They should
have stood trial before punishment was meted out.

“So…who
are you, anyway?”

Ragellan
turned in the direction of the pirate king. The man had done nothing but cuss
and promise to do vile things to the families of the guards for the first ten
minutes of their incarceration. After that, he had gone completely silent.

“I
am Chester Ragellan, a former Knight of Superius and a Renegade by
association.”

A
pause.

“You
work for Leslie?”

“Leslie
Beryl?” Ragellan asked. “No, but the leader of my troupe was holding a meeting
with her when Oars and Omens was attacked by the guards. How do you know
Leslie?”

Another
pause.

“I
s’pose there’s no use keepin’ it a secret…not anymore. Leslie wanted to form an
alliance with my clan. This is what I get for goin’ against my better
judgement…for gettin’ involved in politics.”

“I
am sorry for your loss,” Ragellan began, hardly believing he was trying to
console a pirate king. “You and your men fought bravely. If it is any
consolation to you, I believe that I saw at least one of your men escape before
you were forced to surrender.”

“Oh
yeah? What’d he look like?”

Ragellan
thought back to the fight. He had been dragged from the inn after getting
kicked in the head. Pirates and guardsmen alike were vacating Oars and Omens
due to all the smoke and fire.

“The
man had bluish-black hair and the beginnings of a beard. He had been sitting
next to Plake at the bar before the guards arrived.”

“Crooker,”
the pirate king muttered. “Well, at least Crook’ got away. If he has any sense,
he’ll get the hell out of town and keep runnin’. Wait a minute. You mentioned
Plake. You know him?”

“Yes,”
Ragellan said with a sighed. “He is member of my Renegade band.”

The
pirate king laughed dryly. “Did ya know Plake was the one who made the inn blow
up? Dropped a firebomb behind the bar…near all the flammable stuff. Nearly got
us all killed.”

“I
apologize on his behalf—”

“Forget
it,” the other man interrupted. “It was an accident, and he was only tryin’ to
help. ’Sides, we were cornered anyway. Only a matter of time before the guards
took us. Neither you nor Plake had any reason to stay an’ fight. I appreciate
that, even though it did no good.”

“You’re
welcome.”

After
another long pause, the pirate king said, “My name is Charles Atlins, but
everyone calls me Pistol.”

“Well
met…Pistol.” The word felt strange on Ragellan’s tongue.

Then
the two men returned to their respective thoughts, surrounded by darkness and
the silence of regret.

Passage XI

Through
bleary eyes, Klye took in the sparsely decorated bedroom around him. Judging by
the sunlight streaming through the partly drawn curtains, it was morning. The
last thing he recalled was escaping the sewers. He sat up, wincing when he put
weight on his injured arm.

He
found Leslie sleeping in a more-or-less upright position in the corner of the
room. Her head was lolled to the side, and Klye imagined she would have quite
the cramp in her neck when she awoke.

Though
he was still a little groggy, Klye felt considerably better than he had
yesterday. He remembered the wooziness and wondered what sort of drug the
arrowhead had carried. Not a fatal toxin, obviously. More likely, the creatures
in the sewers had used a poison that would dull their enemies’ senses and render
them unconscious.

He
was suddenly aware that he was staring at Leslie Beryl. Her hair was
disheveled, and she wore different clothing, including a shirt that was quite a
bit tighter than the loose tunic he was accustomed to. She had changed out of her
wet clothes, but was this her home?

Or
her boyfriend’s maybe?

His
face burned when he saw the ankh around her neck. A memory scratched at the
back of his brain, but he couldn’t bring it forward. How did she get the
necklace? Had he given it to her at some point? Oh gods…

When
Klye tried to get to his feet, he realized that he was wearing only his
underclothes. While he was certain nothing had happened between him and Leslie
last night, he would have given his right arm—or his left, at least—to remember
the events of the evening. He retrieved pants, which were still damp, and began
looking for his shirt.

“It’s
under the bed,” Leslie said.

Klye
pretended she hadn’t succeeded in startling him and bent down to recover his
shirt.

“How’s
your arm?” she asked.

“A
little stiff…and it still throbs a bit…but not too bad considering. Did you put
this bandage on me?”

Leslie
shook her head. “Veldross did. He’s a Renegade sympathizer. This is his house.”

A
thousand questions bubbled in Klye’s mind, but he merely nodded. Pulling his
shirt over his head—slowly, awkwardly—he waited for her to fill him in on what
he had missed.

As
Leslie spoke, rubbing her neck occasionally, Klye did his best not to
interrupt—even when she shared the bad news about Ragellan. He was thankful
that she omitted the episode during which she had received the ankh necklace
and hoped he hadn’t made too much of a fool out of himself.

He
didn’t know why he felt so off-balance around Leslie Beryl. It wasn’t as though
she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

“Are
you hungry?” she asked. “We could raid Veldross’s larder.”

He
hadn’t eaten in nearly a day and thought that he should be hungry, but he
wasn’t.

“Maybe
it’s an effect of the poison,” he reasoned. “Speaking of which, just what the
hell were those things in the sewers?”

“I
haven’t the faintest idea. For an underground movement, my Renegades don’t
spend all that much time under the actual ground. I couldn’t get a good look at
them at first because of the fog, but when I had that one dangling from my
foot…it was like looking into the eyes of a demon.” She shivered. “Maybe Scout
will have a better idea of what they were. He’s been all over the island.”

“How
long have you known Scout?” Klye asked, trying to sound casual.

“Back
when my father, mother, and I moved to Port Town…I think I was nine or ten at
the time…Solomon Aegis was the first kid my age that I met. He and his father
lived near our house, so we became best friends…we still are, I suppose.”

Klye
didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Why do I even care? he
wondered.

Suddenly,
Leslie gave him a suspicious look. “Why is it that our conversations always
seem to focus on me?”

“I
already know about myself,” Klye stated. “It wouldn’t make much sense for me to
ask myself questions.”

“Well,
then let
me
ask
you
something. Why are you going to Fort Faith?”

The
sound of a door closing made both their heads turn toward the bedroom’s
entryway. A man in a long, brown coat emerged and lowered his cowl.

“Veldross?”
Klye asked.

“No,
it’s me. Scout.”

It
was the first time Klye had seen the man without the tight, black hood covering
his hair. Scout’s hair was dark blond and arranged in no style to speak of.

“Veldross
is gone,” Scout told them. “He might be meeting with Maeve and the other
Renegades.”

“Did
you learn anything more about the pirates?” Leslie asked. “Or about Klye’s
men?”

“Not
much,” Scout replied. “I did talk to Elezar. Don’t look at me like that, Les. I
didn’t go to the Cathedral. I ran into him in the East Market. He was on his
way to meet with your dad, though the messenger hadn’t told him what it was all
about.”

“What
about my men?” Klye asked. “Leslie told me they have Ragellan, but have you
heard anything about the other Renegades at Oars and Omens?”

Scout
shook his head. “They must’ve gotten away. Oh, and you were right about Pistol,
Les. He’s to be hanged tomorrow at noon. I don’t think they’re going to hang
Ragellan, though. Apparently, there’s a big reward being offered by the King of
Superius himself.”

“Thanks
for the great news,” Klye groused.

There
was something about Scout that frayed his nerves. The man seemed to possess
endless optimism. Come to think of it, Scout reminded him of someone from his
past…

Klye
shuddered at the thought.

“What
are you going to do?” Leslie asked.

“It
looks like I’m going to have to rescue Ragellan all over again, but I’d like to
find my other men first. What about you?”

Leslie
crossed her arms. “We’ve been scurrying around the city like mice in the shadows
for too long. I invited the Pirates of the Fractured Skull to Port Town to
serve as the Renegades’ muscle. Maybe it’s time we fought for ourselves.

“There’s
nothing I can do about the pirates who perished at Oars and Omens, but I’m not
going to let my father hang Pistol. The mayor will soon learn that these mice
have teeth.”

“Rats
are more ferocious than mice,” Scout pointed out.

Ignoring
him, Leslie turned to Klye. “I think we may be able to help each other.”

*
         
*
         
*

The
High Priest spent at least one hour every morning talking with his god, but
today, Elezar prayed well past when he normally would have said “amen.” He did
not join the other priests and priestesses for breakfast, but when his stomach
grumbled, it was out of anxiousness, not hunger.

Although
he trusted Aladon would see him through all of life’s trials and tribulations,
Elezar worried the mayor had finally discovered his ties to the Renegades. He
didn’t fear death. The High Priest had cared for Leslie ever since she ran away
from her father, and Elezar couldn’t help but think of her as his own daughter
at times.

What
would become of poor Leslie when he was gone?

“I
shouldn’t doubt your will,” he said to Aladon. “Please continue to watch over the
girl and all of the other Renegades should my life become forfeit.”

It
was nearly noon when Elezar finally finished his prayers. He would be late for
his appointment with the mayor, but that didn’t bother him overmuch. Either he
was doomed or not; a few minutes weren’t going to change a thing.

As
he strode through the streets of Port Town, he realized how much he would miss
the city should this day prove his last. Even though he believed he would spend
eternity in Paradise, the instinct to fight or flee impending danger surged in
his veins.

Approaching
the mayor’s mansion, Elezar remembered when he had made frequent visits to the
Beryl household. Aleth, Leslie’s mother, had cooked the best rhubarb pie Elezar
ever tasted, and he had enjoyed discussing everything from politics to theology
with Crofton.

It
broke Elezar’s heart to remember the good times. After Aleth died, Crofton had
denounced all of the gods. On top of that, Crofton Beryl had turned his back on
Leslie, which was the more heinous crime in Elezar’s opinion. The High Priest
had done all he could to comfort the mayor, to help him move on with his life,
but throughout the year following Aleth’s death, Crofton had undergone a most
disturbing metamorphosis.

Elezar
had avoided the mayor’s mansion since Leslie ran away from home, thinking it
best to keep a low profile for the girl’s sake. And not since before Aleth’s
death had Crofton summoned the priest to his home.

He
was led by a servant into the mayor’s office, an untidy room with a noticeably
bear spot where a portrait of Crofton’s wife once hung. The mayor had changed
in appearance as much as he had in spirit.

Crofton
sat behind a large desk, hunched forward as though preparing to pounce. His
handsome green eyes seemed to have lost their luster, and his face was thinner,
accentuating the sharp bones beneath his skin. Patches of white hair replaced
the rich brown by his temples.

“Good
day, Mayor,” Elezar said, keeping his tone pleasant. “Please accept my apology
for arriving late.”

Crofton
Beryl smiled coldly.    “It’s of little concern, Father. You
must be keeping yourself busy.”

Elezar
didn’t know how to interpret that, so he decided to not mince words. “I must
admit that your message caught me by surprise. It’s been quite a while since we
spoke. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You
have heard of the incident that took place last night near the northern
harbor?” the mayor asked.

“I
have.” By now all of Port Town had learned of the battle with the pirates.

Crofton
continued, his expression unchanged by the priest’s answer. “We have taken the
pirate king alive. He is to be hanged in the Square tomorrow. But this comes as
no surprise to you, does it, Father?”

“I
have heard these things too.” The mayor was toying with him, but what else
could he do but speak the truth?

“The
Pirates of the Fractured Skull have all been wiped from the face of the world,
except for the pirate king,” the mayor said.

“And
the ship that got away,” Elezar dared to interject.

The
mayor narrowed his eyes. After a brief silence, he said, “Yes, one of the ships
did escape, but they will never return to my city. And the pirate king’s
execution will teach the other scoundrels who call Port Town home that I do not
show mercy to those who don’t deserve it. The pirate king will serve as an
example for pirates and Renegades alike.”

“I
see,” said the High Priest at length. “And what has the killing of a pirate
king to do with me?”

Crofton
leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Elezar had seen Leslie adopt
that same pose time and time again, though she had never looked as sinister as
the mayor did now.

“You
will attend the execution,” said mayor flatly. “You will offer the pirate king
a chance to confess his sins and die with a purified heart…or some such
nonsense. Of course, the knave will refuse, which will only bolster the crowd’s
cheers when he hangs.”

As
loath as he was to admit it, Elezar knew the execution would, in fact, raise
the morale of Port Town. And the people would speak of Crofton Beryl as a hero
once more for cleansing the city of pirates.

Elezar
wanted to refuse to attend the barbaric display, but Elezar knew the test for
what it was. If he refused to participate in the mayor’s presentation, how long
before he disappeared or wound up dead in some alley?

The
pirate king’s fate was as much a message for the High Priest as it was for
Leslie and her Renegades.

His
teeth clenched, Elezar said, “I will be there, but only because I have hope
that the condemned man will confess.”

Crofton
laughed, and the sound made Elezar’s flesh prickle. “I don’t think that is
likely, but it’s been some time since you and I saw eye to eye on anything.”

“On
that we can agree.”

The
sadness that had filled him before the meeting returned as he left the mansion.
There was no doubt in his mind that Crofton Beryl knew he was involved with the
Renegades. Rather than kill him or imprison him, the mayor was content to warn
him that he was watching.

Surely,
Crofton didn’t know he was harboring Leslie in the Cathedral. If he had, nothing—not
even concern over public opinion—would have kept him from storming the
Cathedral in search for her. Or stringing Elezar up beside the pirate king.