Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

Planting
a foot firmly on the ground, Klye pushed off and reversed his retreat, now
coming straight at the monster with all of his might. Realizing Klye’s intent,
the creature hissed and brought up an arm in a feeble attempt to ward off the
attack. The rapier tore through the sallow flesh of its arm and plunged deep
into its unprotected face. Black blood spattered into the air.

When
the creature slid free of Klye’s sword, two more were there to take its place.

*
         
*
         
*

When
the first of the monsters came rushing into the meadow, Plake Nelway had felt a
terror unlike anything he had ever known. The creatures were the stuff of
nightmares, like the demons of Abaddon he and his friends had described in
detail around the fireside to make nights spent sleeping under the open sky
more exciting.

Now
he wished he had never jested about such things.

“W-what
are they?” Arthur asked beside him, but no one answered, for the demons’ long
strides brought them to the Renegades in seconds.

Plake
did more dodging than anything else, but there was nowhere to run. If there had
been a clean route from the clearing to the safety of the woods, he would have
fled and not looked back. There seemed no end to the number of the
demon-fiends.

It’ll
be a bloody miracle if any of us survive, thought Plake, lashing out with his
short sword. The nearest demon-fiend carried a long-hafted mace that sported
four long spikes on its sides and one even greater point on top.

Plake
brought up his sword to block the thing’s attack, but such was the force of the
demon’s swing that Plake’s weapon was wrenched out wide from his body. The
muscles in his arm protested at the impact, and it was all he could do to hold
onto the sword.

His
arm numb from the parry, Plake wondered if the next swing of the club would
kill him instantly or if he would end up bleeding to death on the grass. To the
rancher’s amazement, he found himself being propelled backward, away from the
demon-fiend. The tip of the mace’s longest spike brushed past his face, leaving
a small scratch across his nose.

Tripping
over his own feet, Plake nearly landed on his arse, but there was someone there
to steady him—the woman Klye and Othello had picked up in Pillars. Sparing him
the briefest of glances, she pushed past him and met the monster head-on.

Gripping
her broadsword with two hands, she swung the massive weapon outward at a
perpendicular angel to the demon-fiend’s next strike. Her sword met the head of
the wicked mace with a loud clang, and Plake expected to see the magnificent
sword shatter.

But
the woman followed through on her swing, the broadsword still intact. The head
of the mace, however, was cleaved cleanly in half. The demon appeared as
astonished as Plake was, but the woman didn’t seem at all surprised. She
reversed her swing and slashed out at her opponent, who could do nothing but
scream in anger just before the broadsword separated its head from its body.

*
         
*
         
*

Horcalus
tried to keep Arthur out of harm’s way, but it was no easy chore.

Fortunately,
the boy was doing an admirable job of avoiding the monsters’ strokes and stabs.
Horcalus swore that if they survived the battle, he would teach Arthur how to
defend himself. In the meantime, however, he could only try his best to protect
the lad, who had gone as pale as a corpse at the sight of the creatures.

Horcalus
had never encountered such beings in his life, though from all the history
lessons and battle strategies he had studied as a squire, he thought he knew
what they were. Yet everything he had ever read about the creatures had
abandoned him, and so he fought more on instinct than preconceived tactics.

The
knight was inspired and bolstered by the fearlessness Ragellan displayed as he
hacked his way through any opponent that drew too near the Renegades’ circle.
From behind them, Othello sent arrows into the horde, but soon the melee would
reach the archer, forcing him to trade longbow for knife.

As
a green-fletched arrow hit the throat of an enemy sneaking up on his flank,
Horcalus swore to hold them off for as long as possible.

*
         
*
         
*

During
his years roving the Aden Ocean, Charles Atlins had come face to face with all
manner of men, not to mention elves, dwarves, and ogres. But he had never seen
the likes of these creatures before. After exchanging blows with one of the
nasty blokes, the former pirate king hoped he’d never come across them again.

A
three-pronged spear grazed his midsection. Pistol accepted the wound with a
grunt, clenching his teeth against the pain. He quickly brought his curved
sword out to the side and cut through the creature’s neck. Tar-like blood
spurted from the wound, but he had no time to wonder at the thing’s unusual
anatomy.

Another
creature sprang forward, hefting what looked like a pickax over its head.
Before Pistol could fall back, an arrow planted itself in the enemy’s chest,
penetrating leather armor, flesh, and bone. Crooker finished the job by slitting
the gurgling creature’s throat.

*
         
*
         
*

Throughout
the battle, Klye tried pushing his way toward the enemy archers. Unfortunately,
the hand-to-hand combatants had done a commendable job in defending them, and
for the life of him, Klye couldn’t advance more than a step or two before being
overwhelmed by another creature wielding a polearm or some unidentified
bludgeoning tool.

As
he fought blade to blade with another of the beasts, he caught sight of a
familiar figure in a black hood running through the trees and wondered why he
hadn’t noticed Scout’s absence from the start.

Passage V

Scout
practically bumped into the creatures before noticing them. An unnatural
darkness seemed to flow around the spies, and Scout had to blink repeatedly in
order to finally make out their shapes. There were four of them—whatever they
were—quietly speaking in a language Scout couldn’t understand, though he
thought he recognized it.

Port
Town’s subterranean denizens had followed them out of the city, Scout concluded.
But why? Carefully shifting his weight from one leg to the other to aid
circulation, he decided to stick around and find out.

That’s
when he heard a voice—Klye’s—addressing them as though they were simple
townspeople. Scout was about to abandon his reconnaissance and return to the
band, but at that moment, the strangers charged forward, crying out in a most
unnerving manner. He ducked behind a tree to avoid their detection.

Scout
was right behind them, and when he caught up with one of the stragglers, he
stabbed the thing in the back of the neck. It fell to the ground, writhing in
agony and spitting out foamy black blood between what he assumed were curses.
Soon it ceased moving altogether.

But
Scout’s attack had not gone unnoticed.

One
of the creature’s companions, an archer, yelled something as it fit an arrow to
the bowstring. Adjusting his grip on his knife so that he held it by the blade,
Scout took a step forward and threw it at the creature. Scout proved the
quicker, and when his knife stuck squarely in the monster’s shoulder, the beast
screeched in frustration. A black-tipped arrow sailed harmlessly into the
treetops.

Before
his adversary could recover, Scout sprinted over it and punched its
pointy-nosed face until it closed its eyes and ceased struggling. He wrenched
his knife free of its shoulder and ran for the meadow, where he could see that
a battle was already under way.

He
spotted the line of archers just as they launched a volley of arrows at the
circle of Renegades. Two of the four missiles struck the ground near the feet
of Scout’s friends. The third clipped the misshaped ear of a monster.

The
fourth arrow, however, flew true, and Scout could only watch helplessly as the
shaft whizzed past Klye, barely missing Arthur, before striking Horcalus. The
arrow hit the knight in the back. The momentum sent him face-first to the
ground.

A
blond-haired woman he didn’t know came to Horcalus’s aid, defending him from
eager predators. But Scout had no time to worry about Horcalus or the woman,
for he knew it was only a matter of time before the archers fired again.

Knife
in hand, Scout charged the archers.

*
         
*
         
*

When
the creatures attacked, Dark Lily had been more surprised than alarmed. She had
no idea why the creatures were lurking on an island governed by the men of
Superius. Neither did she care.

She
considered unleashing her most powerful spells at them but then reconsidered.
Fighting the old mage in Port Town had drained her, and the hastening and
invisibility enchantments had taken their toll on her strength.

Let
them slay the Renegades, she thought. As long as she didn’t lose track of
Ragellan and Horcalus—specifically, their valuable heads—she had nothing to
fear.

*
         
*
         
*

The
span of the battle could have been measured in minutes, but to Klye, it seemed
as though he had fought for hours. When the Renegades had slain all but seven
of the creatures, the remaining enemies made a hasty retreat, leaving the weary
humans to ponder the puzzle of the ambush and deal with the consequences of it.

Now
that the battle was over, a deep exhaustion seeped into his bones. His
adrenaline spent, the Renegade Leader became aware of his various cuts and
bruises. One of his ankles was swollen, sending a pulse of pain through his leg
whenever he put his weight on it.

Just
about all of his men were tired and bleeding in more than one place. Even
Othello and Arthur, who had remained out of weapons-reach as best they could,
had not escaped unscathed, though their injuries were mostly superficial.

Only
Lilac remained untouched. Having caught glimpses of her during the battle, Klye
suspected her success had everything to do with her sword, which had cut
through steel and bone as if it were soft cheese. The blade was surely
enchanted.

But
Klye had more important things to worry about than a magical sword, for two of
his men had fallen during the fray, and neither one was moving.

Plake
lay on his back. The first thing Klye noticed was a gash across the rancher’s
forehead. The cut bled only a little. What was more alarming was the colorful
contusion blossoming outward from the wound. The rancher would have one hell of
a headache when he came to.

“Try
to wake him,” Klye told Pistol.

The
former pirate king didn’t argue. He sent Crooker to fetch a canteen and then
began slapping the rancher’s pale cheeks. Plake didn’t respond.

Everyone
else stood around Horcalus, who lay face-down on his stomach. When Klye reached
the knight, he saw an arrow protruding from the knight’s back.

Klye
marveled when Horcalus began to stir.

“Help
me put him on his side,” he said to Ragellan. “Scout, make sure there aren’t
any more of those damn things out in the woods. But don’t wonder too far.
Arthur, get some water and anything that might serve as a bandage from the
supply bags.”

The
two men jumped to their tasks, but Othello and Lilac remained near at hand,
looking at Horcalus with concern. As Klye and Ragellan eased the fallen knight
onto his side, Horcalus let out a breathy groan and asked, “What happened?”

“There
is an arrow in your back,” Ragellan said matter-of-factly. “It is in fairly
deep, my friend, but I do not believe it has pierced anything vital.”

The
flesh around the arrow didn’t bleed much, which Klye took for a good sign. He
was no field surgeon, however, and could only hope that the man wasn’t bleeding
internally.

Horcalus
grimaced and whispered, “I’m so cold…”

“It
might be poisoned,” Klye said softly so that only Ragellan would hear. “I think
these were the same bastards that ambushed Leslie, Scout, and me in the sewers.
We’ll want to bring the fever down…”

“So
cold,” Horcalus repeated, closing his eyes.

“We
have to get that arrow out,” Ragellan said. “I’ve done it before, though if the
arrowhead is barbed, it will make it quite difficult.”

And
more painful, thought Klye.

As
Ragellan gingerly prodded the swollen flesh around the arrow, Arthur returned
with water and the remaining monk disguise. After ripping off a strip of brown
cloth, Klye poured some water on it and dabbed the rag on Horcalus’s sweltering
forehead.

Meanwhile,
Othello pried loose a chunk of bark from one of the trees and handed it to
Klye, who took it from the archer and placed it in Horcalus’s mouth.

“Help
me hold him,” Klye said to Othello.

Klye’s
precaution was unnecessary, however, for Horcalus did not struggle while
Ragellan carved the arrowhead out of Horcalus’s flesh. Apparently, the poison
had completely numbed him. He didn’t wake when Ragellan finally removed the
barbed tip. Throughout the ordeal, only a few feeble moans found their way past
the piece of bark in his mouth.

“Is
there anything around here that might break the fever?” Klye asked Othello,
hoping that the forester knew something about natural remedies from all of his
time spent in the wilderness.

“I
might be able to find something in the forest to help his body fight off the
poison,” Othello said, his bright green eyes lingering on the fallen knight.

“Go,”
Klye told him, “but if you haven’t found what you need in ten minutes, return.”

With
a nod, Othello left the meadow, an arrow fitted in his bow.

After
converting the monk robe into a makeshift bandage, Ragellan and Klye rolled
Horcalus onto his back. Ragellan gave his old friend a wan smile before rising
to his feet and looking around at the carnage.

“What
are they?” Klye asked, kicking one of the corpses.

“If
I am not mistaken, they’re goblins,” Ragellan replied.

“Goblins?”
Arthur gasped. “Aren’t those just made-up monsters? Like bogeymen?”

Ragellan
shook his head and crouched over one of the gray-skinned bodies. “They are
real, though none of their kind have been seen in Continae…or Capricon, for
that matter…for centuries. Their homeland lies across the Aden.”

“So
what the hell are they doing here?” Klye asked.

He
had never seen a goblin before, though tales of their cruelty and treachery had
survived the years. Like Arthur, Klye had always dismissed the goblin race as
the stuff of stories and myth.

Looking
down at the grotesque corpses with their spindly limbs and bald, skull-like
heads, Klye couldn’t deny the proof. He didn’t know what the sudden appearance
of the monsters portended, but it could be no coincidence he had crossed them
twice in one week.

“The
gods only know why they are here,” Ragellan said. “From what I remember of the
histories, Capricon has been home to many different peoples over the ages.
Perhaps they have been here all along.”

*
         
*
         
*

When
the Stranger awoke, the sky outside his window was darkening with the promise
of nightfall. He didn’t know what had interrupted his slumber until he heard
the distinctive chime—muffled, to be sure—of the enchanted mirror. Carefully,
he removed the talisman from its hiding place and prayed to his god that the
wizard wasn’t near enough to detect his spell.

The
Stranger brought the mirror up to his face, and instantly his human features
were replaced by the face of a goblin. The creature favored the Stranger with a
pointy-toothed smile. Immediately, the Stranger grew suspicious.

“What
is wrong?” he demanded.

The
goblin moved its mouth in an attempt to answer, but only after two false starts
was he able to speak.

“We
were unable to kill the rogue knights,” the goblin said and then hastily
communicated what he had learned of the battle, concluding his tale with the
fact that only seven warriors had returned to Port Town.

“You
are useless,” the Stranger hissed, resisting the urge to shout. “Are you
telling me you sent a brigade out into the open, and they failed to kill the
band of Renegades?”

“You
needn’t be concerned,
n’Pruelta
. The Renegades are in the middle of
nowhere. I will order a counterattack—”

“No!”
the Stranger shouted. “You will do nothing unless I command it. Do
not
send more warriors against the Renegades. You’ve wasted too many of your troops
as it is. You will wait until the Renegades are far from where the battle
occurred, and then you will burn the bodies of the dead, leaving no trace of
them behind. Do you understand?”

“Yes,
n’Pruelta
.”

“Good.”

Resisting
the urge to shatter the talisman against the wall, the Stranger swallowed his
ire and returned the mirror to its hiding place under the floor. He paced back
and forth. This matter with the rogue knights was getting out of hand.

When
Ragellan and Horcalus had first fled the Citadel Dungeon, he hadn’t worried
overmuch that they and the Renegades who had freed them would come forward with
evidence against the Knighthood. After all, no Knight of Superius would believe
the words of traitors.

When
his agents had discovered that the rogue knights had gotten aboard a ship bound
for Capricon, the Stranger began to worry that the former Commander of Fort
Splendor had stumbled upon something.

Now
he had to contend with the fact that an entire band of Renegades knew of the
goblins hiding in Capricon. In all likelihood, neither the rogue knights nor
their friends had unraveled the mystery of
why
the goblins were there,
but he couldn’t afford to take chances. The situation in Capricon was too
delicate to take any chances.

Upsinous
willing, one of the three assassins he hired would kill them all.

*
         
*
         
*

Scout
returned to the meadow and reported the good news—no sign of the monsters in
the forest. When he heard Ragellan’s theory that the goblins might have been on
the island all along, he thought back to everything his father had told him
about Capricon’s history.

“I
don’t ever remember hearing anything about goblins,” Scout said. “But that
doesn’t mean that they weren’t here
before
the elves…or maybe they were
here after the elves but before the dwarves. Or maybe—”