Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (18 page)

Passersby
screamed and fled the area. Mindless of the pandemonium he was causing, the old
mage kept up his barrage. Her arcane shield was weakening, and the dark
explosions were coming closer and closer.

She
removed a dagger from a sheath hidden in her boot and threw the weapon at her
adversary. Because of the violet explosions, she couldn’t see the old mage, but
she didn’t have to. Like the man’s wand, her dagger was enchanted. All she had
to do was picture a nearby target in her mind, and the dagger would do the
rest.

The
blossoms of black lightening suddenly ceased. The elderly mage slumped to the
ground, her dagger planted deep in his chest. She knew better than to go too
near the dying wizard. All of his pouches and magical treasures were likely
booby-trapped. The constables would arrive any minute, but she was not about to
leave the battlefield empty-handed.

Scooping
up the wand, which had rolled a safe distance from the dead wizard, Dark Lily
stashed it in her boot and gave her dagger a regretful look before hurrying
away from the market.

While
she was loath to draw attention to herself, she was pleased to be rid of a
rival. She decided she had fought well, even if she greatly preferred surprise
attacks to open confrontations.

Yet
she was concerned about what the presence of the old mage portended. It stood
to reason that there were other assassins—magically gifted or otherwise—trying
to accomplish the same goal as she. The Stranger may have tricked her by
withholding some fact, but Dark Lily intended to overcome any obstacle, even if
she had to kill her peers along the way.

No
matter the cost, the spell book of Braiseph Harrow would be hers.

*
         
*
         
*

Klye’s
first priority was to find some food for the band. As much as he hated to
linger so near Port Town, he had little choice, for without sustenance, they
might as well surrender to the authorities right then and there.

According
to Scout, a village by the name of Pillars lay almost directly to the south of
their camp. They would have to get their provisions there.

Because
Port Town’s guardsmen had confiscated the majority of their funds when they
arrested Ragellan, Klye’s had to convince everyone to donate whatever coins
they had to the common good of the company. It hadn’t amounted to much, but
Klye hoped it would be enough to buy some jerky and trail-bread.

Since
fewer travelers would elicit less attention, Klye decided he and Othello would
go alone. He left Ragellan in charge of the rest of the band, who would all
wait in the meadow until they returned. As the Renegade Leader and the archer
forged a path through the woods, keeping the setting sun to their left, they
kept a sharp lookout for game as well as men. Othello had brought his bow and a
quiver full of arrows in the event they ran into either.

Klye
glanced at Othello, who stared straight ahead at the crop of small houses and
cabins through the thinning line of trees. He felt at ease beside the taciturn
forester, for although Othello was not much of a conversationalist, he was a
very valuable member of the band. When compared to a bitter knight or
unpredictable pirates—not to mention Plake—Othello was the least of Klye’s
worries.

Up
ahead, Pillars resembled a number of small communities Klye, Ragellan, and
Horcalus had passed through on their flight from the Citadel Dungeon. In fact,
it reminded Klye of the village where they had met Othello. If Klye believed in
the gods—which he didn’t—he would have attributed their meeting to some
meddling deity.

Klye
and the recently liberated knights had taken refuge from a storm in the only
inn of a quaint Superian town. To this day, Klye didn’t know the name of the
settlement. He had noticed Othello immediately, for he was clad in buckskin
clothes and eating all by himself at a table near the fire.

But
the tall forester was not alone for long. After a few minutes, a group of men
at the bar, who, from their raucous laughter and boisterous boasts, must have
been slaking their thirst for the past few hours, left their seats and crowded
around Othello.

From
what Klye could glean from the one-sided conversation that flowed from the
thick-tongued men, Othello was a hermit who lived in the woods where the men,
woodcutters all, plied their trade. Apparently, they had had a few run-ins with
the forester, and it was clear that woodcutters did not care for the way he
“prowled around the forest.” Moreover, the forester’s cabin lay in the path of
the woodcutter’s advancement, and they threatened to chop down his house with
him inside if he didn’t leave the area immediately.

Klye
didn’t see who made the first move, but now, after having spent more than a
month in Othello’s company, the Renegade Leader was inclined to believe one of the
drunken woodsmen had tried to push Othello off his chair. The next thing Klye
knew, there was a dead man on the floor, his throat slashed by Othello’s large
knife.

Moving
with incredible speed, Othello had then jumped to his feet and drew an arrow
from his quiver. The other woodcutters came forward, and the archer let fly
three arrows, two of which made fatal entries—one in a windpipe, the other to
the chest. The third missile sailed harmless up at the ceiling, for one of the
remaining woodcutter had gotten close enough to tackle Othello by that time.

Maybe
it was Klye’s respect for the archer’s audacity that prompted him to join the
fight. He knew that the forester wouldn’t survive the scuffle without help, for
those who had stayed at the bar were now getting to their feet to help their
friends. They outnumbered Othello twelve to one.

Ragellan
and a reluctant Horcalus followed his lead, and moments later, Klye, the
knights, and Othello were fleeing the inn with a mob of angry woodcutters at
their heels. The men gave chase for a more than a mile, until the cold rain
quelled the fires of their drunken rage. Klye introduced himself and the
knights to the forester, who then told them his name.

When
Klye invited Othello to join his band, Horcalus had not looked at all pleased,
and the younger knight’s face had curdled even more when the archer accepted
his offer.

“They
will likely burn down my cabin before the night is through. There is nothing
for me here anymore,” Othello had replied.

“If
we hurry, we might get there first, and you could salvage some of your
belongings,” Klye had suggested.

Draping
his longbow over one shoulder, Othello said, “I have everything I need.”

Now,
as they walked past Pillars’ modest residences, their chimneys seducing him
with the smells of roasted meat and freshly baked bread, Klye’s mind returned
to the present. A large, single-story building made of logs stood near the
center of the village.

With
the barking of dogs outside mixing with muffled human voices inside, Klye and
Othello entered Pillars’ only tavern.

Passage III

The
first tavern Dark Lily came upon was nearly empty, but when she noticed one of
the patrons wore a red-and-white uniform, she decided to stay. She had no idea what
the three golden stripes denoted, but even a low-ranking soldier might know
something of value.

“Is
this seat taken?” she asked in a sickeningly sweet tone, all but batting her
eyelashes. Some things, like capturing the attention of males, did not require
an arcane touch.

“It’s
all yours,” the man replied.

He
introduced himself between hiccups, and as luck would have it, he was Port
Town’s Captain of the Guard. Better yet, judging by his foul breath and the way
he unabashedly admired her bosom, Harrod Brass was quite drunk.

It
took only a few well-aimed questions to provoke Brass into a surly tirade.

“I’m
beginning to think the mayor’s gone completely nuts,” he told her in a
conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for all in the bar to hear. “I mean,
the Renegades in the city should be the Guards’ top priority, but Crofton Beryl
can’t get his mind off these two rogue knights from Superius.”

Dark
Lily coughed, trying to catch her breath after that last swig of beer ended up
down the wrong pipe.

“Rogue
knights, you say? How dreadful!” She brought a hand up to cover her heart in
mock terror. “Why do you think the mayor is so preoccupied with them?”

Harrod
Brass turned sideways in his chair and said, “Well, there’s a reward for their
capture for one thing. But I think there’s more to it.
I
think there’s
more to the
mayor
than meets the eye, if you know what I mean.”

Dark
Lily did not, but that didn’t stop her from nodding and affecting a shy smile.

“It’s
like he’s taking orders from someone…or someone’s providing him new information
everyday…and new orders. He’s so
self-contradictorary…self-contradictionary…self…he doesn’t make any sense! Just
yesterday he said that the knights were to be returned to Port Town so he could
personally arrange for their transport back to Continae, but today he says it
doesn’t matter who gets ’em. Oh, and before he wanted ’em alive, but now he
doesn’t care if they’re alive or dead. It just doesn’t make sense…”

He
punctuated his harangue by draining another stein of beer. After wiping his
mouth with a soiled sleeve, he added, “And if he’s not planning on using the
Three Guards to get the knights, well, who else is there?”

Harrod
Brass continued to ramble, but the assassin only half-listened. Her head was
spinning, and it had nothing to do with alcohol. She was certain the Stranger
and the mayor of Port Town were connected, but did Crofton Beryl know about the
bounty hunters the Knights of Superius had hired to kill Ragellan and Horcalus?

Or
did the mayor have his own secret weapons?

The
captain swayed in his chair, barely keeping his balance. It wouldn’t be long
before he passed out. If she wanted to ask any more questions, she would have
to act quickly.

“Suppose
the rogue knights have fled the city,” she said, using a gentle hand to guide
the man’s face so that he was looking at her, not off into empty space. “After
all the trouble they caused, they would want to get far from Port Town. But
where do you suppose they went…which direction, I mean?”

Brass
blinked repeatedly before responding. “If I knew that, I’d quit the Guards an’
find ’em myself. Then I’d use the reward money to buy a nice house and servants
who’d heed my every beck and call.”

Swallowing
her impatience with another gulp of ale, she added, “But if you had to guess where
they went, what would you say?”

“I
dunno. They might’ve gone to the Port of Balancia. It’s big enough that they
could hide out there…and there aren’t any Superian Knights there, unlike Token.
And, of course, they wouldn’t want to go too near either Fort Honor or Fort
Royal or Fort Miloásterôn.”

Dark
Lily recognized none of the names. She knew virtually nothing about Capricon.

Brass
placed his hand on hers and slurred, “Hey, yer glass is empty. Lemme buy you
another. We’ll toast to the rogue knights. They’re the ones payin’ for it,
after all!”

“What
do you mean by that?”

The
captain pulled a small leather purse from his breast pocket. “One of the
knights had this on him when we arrested him at Oars and Omens. There are still
a few coins left…”

Dark
Lily flashed Brass a pretty smile, barely able to contain her elation. If the
coin purse had truly belonged to Ragellan or Horcalus, she could use it to find
the knights.

“Yes,
I think I’ll have another,” she told Brass, leaning back in her chair.

He
ordered two more glasses of beer, and she pretended to listen to his stories
until he came to rest his head in his hands. Seconds later, he was snoring
contentedly. She pulled the leather pouch out of his pocket without disturbing
him and promptly left the tavern.

In
an empty alleyway, Dark Lily produced a vial from one of the many deep pockets
within her robe. Reciting the words to a finder spell, she sprinkled the clear
liquid over the coin purse. Immediately, she felt a tugging sensation and
started walking in the direction she was being pulled.

Once
she was far from Port Town’s gates, she procured another vial from her robe and
brought it up to her lips. She quaffed the potion, which would enhance her
movements, giving her the speed of a wildcat. With any luck, she would find the
rogue knights before sundown.

*
         
*
         
*

Arthur
hadn’t slept well, so when his turn came to take watch, he felt more tired than
he had when they first reached the meadow. While he was happy to do his part
for the team—and happy that he had been paired up with Scout, not Plake—Arthur
soon found that keeping watch was more a matter of trying to stay awake than
anything else.

Perhaps
Scout noticed the way Arthur occasionally jerked and stood straighter or maybe
he was simply bored, for ten minutes into their shift, the man in the hood
wandered over to where Arthur was half-standing, half-sitting atop a fallen
tree.

Rather
than strike up a conversation, however, Scout hopped up on the trunk, drew his
knife, and began carving something into the bark.

Arthur
felt he should say something to the man, but nothing he came up with sounded
right. He knew nothing about Scout, and Scout knew nothing about him.

When
the silence became too awkward to bear, Arthur finally blurted out, “So, where
exactly is Fort Faith anyway? I mean, I know it’s east of here, but I get all
the fort’s names mixed up. The only one I know for sure is Fort Valor, and
that’s because it’s the one closest to Hylan. That’s where I’m from. Hylan, I
mean. You’re from Port Town, right?”

Scout
plunged his knife into the tree so that the handle stuck straight up. The
movement had been so sudden that it made Arthur jump, thinking he had angered
the man.

“Wow,”
Scout said, “I thought maybe you were like Othello…a tight-lipped,
keep-it-to-yourself kind of guy…but when you open your mouth, the words just
spill out all over the place.”

Arthur’s
face burned, but Scout just smiled.

“Yeah,
I guess so,” Arthur replied with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Scout
removed his knife and began sharpening it on a small whetstone. “To answer your
questions, Fort Faith is south and west of Fort Valor. We still have a long way
to go, through the Rocky Crags and across the Divine Divider River. If you’ve
never made the trip before, it should be fun. There’s a lot more to the island
than most people realize.

“Most
people are content to stay in one place, but I’ve always liked traveling. I’ve
been all over Capricon…well, just about…but I’m originally from Port Town. What
else did you ask me?”

“I
don’t remember,” Arthur confessed, but just then another question occurred to
him. “Hey, why are we going to Fort Faith anyway?”

Scout
gave Arthur an astonished look. “You don’t know why we’re going to Fort Faith?
Oh, brother! Well, I just hope you don’t change your mind after you find out.”
He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat. “To tell you the truth, I
don’t know exactly what Klye is planning to do once we get there, but I
do
know that a bunch of Superian Knights are supposedly on their way to reoccupy
the fort in an attempt to intimidate roving Renegades like ourselves. Fort
Faith has been abandoned for years, you see…ever since the Ogrebasher War. I
guess the Knights didn’t need the fort again until now.”

Arthur
knew almost nothing about knights and wars, but he had heard enough about the
warriors to know he didn’t want to cross them.

“So…we’re
going to Fort Faith to battle the Knights of Superius?” Arthur looked around at
his sleeping companions. “There are only nine of us!”

Scout
just shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not really sure what Klye has up his sleeve,
but as I understand it, he wants to get to the fort before the Knights do.
Maybe he wants to fill the place with booby-traps. Or maybe he has some
reinforcements waiting for us, though I doubt it. I know about all of the
Renegade Leaders in Capricon, and while some of them…like Domacles
Herronin…want to confront the Knights out in the open, none of them have the
men or arms to do so.”

“What
about Ragellan and Horcalus?” Arthur asked. “They were once Knights of
Superius, right? Why would they join a band that intends to fight their old
allies?”

Scout
scratched his head. “That’s a good question. Maybe I’ll ask them when they wake
up.”

To
Arthur’s relief, Scout must have forgotten about the question, for he never
confronted either of the knights. After their watch, most of the other
Renegades—with the exception of Plake and Crooker—were up and ready to be on
the move again.

The
thought of spending another day on the road made Arthur want to collapse and
never get up. He already had more blisters on his feet than he had toes.

He
was relieved when Klye announced he and Othello were going to make a trip to a
nearby village to buy some food and that the others were to wait in the meadow
until they returned. He happily contributed what little money he had to the
cause. He couldn’t remember ever being so hungry.

After
Klye and Othello left, Scout began throwing his knife at the bulls-eye he had carved
into the log. The pirates were talking to each other, and Ragellan and Horcalus
sat together in the center of the meadow. Arthur didn’t want to intrude, so he
lay down on an out-of-the-way patch of grass and closed his eyes, hoping to get
some rest, but then a shadow fell over him.

He
opened his eyes to find Plake, arms crossed and mouth twisted in a smirk,
standing over him

“Still
sleepy, kid?”

*
         
*
         
*

Dark
Lily followed the pull of the finder spell until she reached a cluster of
wooden houses. If the coin purse had traveled with the rogue knights for a
significant period of time, she would find them in this village.

Although
the hastening spell was taking a toll on her concentration, she decided to cast
one more spell.

An
invisible predator once more, the assassin strode unseen into Pillars.

*
         
*
         
*

Klye
walked up to the barkeep and asked him where he could buy some provisions for
the road.

The
short, fat man snorted and informed him the local grocer had already closed up
shop for the day and was, at that moment, enjoying a drink at the end of the
bar. Klye thanked the man and started to walk over to the grocer, hoping to
convince him to reopen his store for at least a minute or two.

But
the barkeep laid a hairy arm on Klye’s and suggested he and his tall companion
stay for a drink or two before leading one of his best customers away.

“Besides,”
laughed the barkeep, “his prices are bound to be more generous after a few
drinks.”

Klye
conceded, not wishing to upset the barkeep, who, judging by his grip on Klye’s
arm, had some muscle hidden beneath his flabby flesh.

“We’ll
have two mugs of your cheapest beer.”

As
the man filled their glasses, Klye took the opportunity to examine the other
occupants of the tavern. Aside from Othello and him, there were only five other
patrons. To Klye’s left sat the grocer, talking with two other men. Likely they
were neighbors with whom he drank every night.

On
Klye’s right sat two other people, who nursed their drinks in silence. An empty
stool served as a buffer between the raggedy matron and a largish man, who was
spending more time staring into his glass than anywhere else.