Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (29 page)

Minutes
later, Calhoun was reading a note from that mayor, who demanded a cavalcade of
Knights immediately be sent to Port Town, certain that his daughter, the local
Renegade Leader, was planning to wage open war on the city. After informing the
rider from Port Town he would have a reply in a short while, Calhoun told the
attendant to take the messenger to one of the fort’s vacant rooms where he
could rest, wash, and dine.

Alone
once more, Calhoun set aside Crofton Beryl’s letter with a sigh. He would not
send a single warrior to Port Town, of that he was certain. Port Town had the
largest standing army than any city this side of the Rocky Crags, employing
more soldiers than North Port and the Port of Balancia combined. If and when
Leslie Beryl made a play for the city, Calhoun would take the request
seriously, but in the meantime, Port Town would have to fend for itself.

Fredmont
Calhoun closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in an attempt to ward off the
powerful headache that had come upon him all at once. Was it merely a
coincidence that Port Town’s Renegade Leader grew bolder even as Domacles’ band
was trying to take North Port? And what of the Renegade Leader who had taken
refuge at Mystel’s Temple? Where in the hells had
he
come from?

And
where was he going?

Less
than a week ago, Calhoun had learned Fort Faith was to be occupied by a unit of
Knights led by a young commander from Superius. He didn’t know who had given
the order to repopulate the old fortress, but he hoped it had come from the
king himself. Maybe, just maybe, King Edward was finally ready to admit the
Renegades were more than a nuisance and that war had broken out across the land
regardless of his best efforts to quell the rebellion.

As
he began drafting a curt response to Mayor Beryl’s request, Fredmont Calhoun
could not help but think the worst was yet to come.

*
         
*
         
*

The
sun was still low in the sky when the Renegades left the Temple of Mystel.

With
Scout leading the way, they walked until noon, taking a short break for lunch
out on the plains. Once they left the forest, they could see the Rocky Crags
stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. They crossed the prairie
as quickly as possible, not wanting to be caught out in the open, but there was
no sign of Knights—from Fort Miloásterôn or elsewhere.

The
terrain grew bumpier as the afternoon waned, and they reached the foothills of
the Rocky Crags at dusk. Scout informed them Aron was but a few miles away, but
Klye decided to skirt the mountain town. The Renegades made camp at the
entrance to a narrow valley that crept between two titanic mountains. All that
day and into the night, Scout had regaled his companions with the history of
the island and its landmarks—whether they wanted to hear it or not.

The
next day, they covered as much distance as they could manage, forced to take
more and more stops as the day wore on. Their pace was hindered by steep
passages and outcroppings that required a fair bit of climbing. As the air grew
thinner, breathing alone became a chore. It had taken them a full day to get
from the temple to the Rocky Crags and then almost two full days to cross through
them.

They
stopped for another break before descending the last ledge separating them from
the Capricon’s eastern half. While most of the band collapsed where they had
been standing, Scout, their tireless guide, walked a little further down the
trail to a cliff that overlooked the great expanse below.

Although
his legs ached with fatigue, Klye joined Scout on the ledge. The Renegade
Leader stared up at the sky, where a single star twinkled in the twilit sky.
“How far is it from here to Forth Faith?” he asked. “Can we get there before
dark?”

Scout
chewed his lower lip as he pondered the question. “We’d have to run most of the
way. I know I could make it before sunset, but with a group this size, laden
with weapons and supplies…it’s not likely. We might as well wait until tomorrow
and get a fresh start. I know of the perfect place to make camp. It’s only a
mile or two to the south…”

Scout
pointed down at the river, but Klye wasn’t paying any attention. He squinted
into the distance, hoping to spot the fort somewhere among the shadowy shapes
in the valley below. He thought he could feel it out there, even if he couldn’t
see it. Like a loadstone to an anvil, he could feel himself being pulled toward
the fortress.

“How
difficult would it be for someone unfamiliar with the area to find the campsite
you were just talking about?” he asked Scout.

“Weren’t
you listening?” Scout folded his arms indignantly. “Like I said, you can’t miss
it if you stick to the river. It’s as safe and comfortable a place you’ll find
this far from civilization. I’ve waited out thunderstorms and blizzards there.”

Klye
merely nodded and turned back to the others, who were reclining against the
rocky mountainside in varying degrees of comfort. Only Horcalus sat upright,
his back erect and his eyes cast down at the ground.

“Listen
up, everyone,” Klye said. “Scout knows of a place near here where we can spend
the night. Horcalus, you’ll follow Scout’s directions and take the others
there. Scout and I are going to get a look at Fort Faith. We’ll rendezvous with
you before dawn.”

Horcalus
looked up. “You think it wise to split up?”

“Don’t
worry,” Scout assured the man. “It’s easy to find.”

“And
we’ll be back before morning,” Klye promised. “Come on, Scout, we’d better get
going.”

The
Renegades rose and renewed their hike with little enthusiasm. They were all
tired from their trek through the mountains, and Klye was no exception, but he
ignored the cramping in his legs, the stitch in his side. When they finally
reached the valley floor, Scout informed them that it was time to split up.

“Just
keep the river at your left, and you’ll be fine,” Scout told Horcalus.

The
knight flashed an unamused look at the hooded Renegade. “I still don’t see why you
can’t tell us what this place is. I’d like to know where, exactly, you are
sending us.”

“It’s
big and yellow and keeps out the rain,” Scout replied cryptically. “If you
can’t solve the riddle, then you’ll just have to wait until you get there.
You’ll know it when you see it.”

Klye
rolled his eyes. Saying a quick goodbye to the others, Scout walked away,
moving at twice the speed of his usual, grueling pace.

“We’ll
be back before morning,” Klye repeated before turning away from Horcalus and
the others. He stopped when he felt an arm on his shoulder.

“I
appreciate your placing me in charge in your absence,” Horcalus said. “I will
do my best, but I am not Renegade Leader material, so you had best be careful.”

Klye
thought he saw an unfamiliar warmth in Horcalus’s gray eyes, and when the
Renegade Leader clutched the knight’s arm in farewell, he couldn’t help but be
reminded of Ragellan.

“I
am always careful,” Klye assured him before running to catch up with Scout.

Passage XIV

“This
place is creepy,” Crooker said.

Before
the Renegades stretched a scene of desolation and ruin. Dilapidated homes and
shops alike defied gravity, somehow standing despite years of decay. The
setting sun cast long shadows behind the skeletal structures and made the
crumbling stone walls shine white like bone.

Horcalus
gave Crooker a dubious look, but he saw that Arthur was nodding in agreement
with the pirate’s assessment.

Plake
stood beside the boy, his gaze shifting from shadow to shadow. “Doesn’t the
lost traveler usually run into a troll or a witch at this point in the tale?”

“Or
a goblin,” Crooker said.

“Or
many goblins,” Pistol added.

“We’re
not lost,” Horcalus said, “and Scout wouldn’t have sent us here if it were
dangerous.”

He
glanced back to make sure the others were following him into the ghost town.
While Plake recalled an old bedtime story his father had told him about
carnivorous wolfmen, Horcalus wondered why had Klye chosen him, out of
everyone, to lead the band in his absence. Sure, he was a better candidate than
Plake or Arthur, but Pistol had been a pirate king, the commander of countless
cutthroats.

He
also wondered why he remained with the Renegades now that Ragellan was dead.

Horcalus
sighed, as though the long exhalation would rid him of the painful memories. He
glanced back at Arthur and saw that the boy was watching him. Several times
since they had left the Temple of Mystel, Arthur had attempted to start a
conversation with him, but he had not been in the mood to talk.

From
somewhere in the back of his mind, Horcalus remembered the promise he had made
himself during the battle with the goblins, how he had sworn he would to teach
Arthur how to defend himself if they survived the attack.

I
have been too immersed with my own troubles, he thought. If I am going to
remain with the Renegades, I may as well do good where I can.

“I’ve
heard about towns that were destroyed by sickness or war where the dead don’t
stay dead,” Plake was saying. He winked conspiratorially at Lilac, who may or
may not have noticed. “And if a person dies really violently, sometimes his
body seeks out his killer.”

Arthur
peered nervously into an alleyway they passed.

“Shut
up, Plake,” Horcalus said, trying not to smile.

Plake
made an ungentlemanly gesture when he thought the knight couldn’t see him.
Horcalus had seen it, but he was more concerned with Arthur, whose face was
even whiter than usual and whose forehead was beaded with sweat. The boy smiled
unconvincingly when he saw Horcalus watching him.

A
few minutes later, they stopped before the only two-story structure still
standing. A faint smile crept to Horcalus’s lips. The paint had faded in
places, but there was no mistaking that entire building had once been a vibrant
shade of yellow.

Big,
yellow, and keeps out the rain, Horcalus thought, shaking his head. It had once
been an inn, according a worn, wooden sign that had long ago fallen from its
roost above the door. Compared to the structures around it, the inn was in
relatively good shape.

“Someone
has been here recently,” Othello said.

A
great shiver crawled across his skin, and the image of bloodthirsty goblins
flashed unbidden in his mind. He turned to find that the archer had walked over
to the sandy shore of the river flowing from the mountain pass. Motioning for
the others to remain where they were, Horcalus ran over to look at what Othello
had found.

Hoof
prints. Two sets of tracks.

“Might
they have been wild horses?” he asked, but Othello was already shaking his
head.

“Not
likely. They wore shoes.”

“How
old are the tracks?”

“A
day…two at most.”

It
was too dark to search the town for other residents. The only logical option
was to hole up in the inn and to keep an eye out for trouble. Horcalus
approached the inn warily, keeping a hand on the hilt of his longsword as he
wrenched open the door.

The
place was empty and appeared to have been empty for some time. Once they
cleared the tables and chairs to one corner of the common room, they settled
down and ate the rest of the trail bread and salted fish Jalil Shenn had given
them. As he chewed the tough bread, Horcalus thought that the ramshackle
furniture would make splendid firewood.

But
they dared not make a fire. Even if the chimney wasn’t completely clogged, the
smoke would have announced their presence as assuredly as a fanfare of
trumpets.

Washing
down his last bite with water from a canteen, Horcalus positioned himself at
the front window. Crooker covered one of the rear windows, while the others did
their best to get comfortable.

Staring
into the twilight, Horcalus thought he heard a mournful song on the wind.

*
         
*
         
*

The
Stranger gazed into the magical mirror for many minutes after its spell faded
away and once more reflected his handsome, human face. No good news from Port
Town. Among other things, the goblin had told of a wizard found slain in one of
the city’s markets.

The
Stranger had listened impassively as the goblin recited Port Town’s latest
events. His mind had gone astray at the mention of the old mage. News of the
wizard’s death was no surprise to him. Unbeknownst to the assassins he had sent
to the island, he had used his secret skills to form a bond between himself and
each of them.

The
Stranger had known about the old mage’s death as soon as it had happened.

He
had not been too concerned at the time, but then the
sai-morí
had died
the very next day. Now, Dark Lily was lost to him too. Three assassins dead in
three days, and he had no way of knowing whether any of them had succeeded in
murdering the rogue knights.

Ever
since Chester Ragellan and his lackey had fled to Capricon, the Stranger was
forced to consider the possibility that Ragellan not only knew his plans, but
intended to expose them. What the knights knew and what they planned to do
about it, the Stranger had no way of knowing. Killing them seemed the most
prudent course of action.

He
had underestimated the knights’ survival skills. Might he also have
underestimated their cunning?

The
Stranger thrust the enchanted looking glass into the pocket of his traveling
cloak, threw open his bedroom door, and made for the palace’s stable. He
silently addressed the only god he ever prayed to, asking for a swift,
trouble-free flight from the castle.

He
navigated the labyrinthine halls of Castle Borrom with the confidence of
someone who has lived there his entire life. Once his steed had carried him a
few miles from the castle—and far enough away from the king’s pet
spell-caster—the Stranger would pray to Upsinous again, tapping into his secret
talents to take him to the nearest port city. From there he would sail to
Capricon.

The
Stranger didn’t worry about finding a ship willing to take him to the island
province.

He
was Eliot Borrom, Crown Prince of Superius, after all.

*
         
*
         
*

They
had been on the move for more than an hour before Klye finally asked, “So what
is big and yellow and keeps out the rain?”

Scout
smiled mischievously. “It’s not really a riddle…or, at least, it’s not
something anybody would be able to guess. I was referring to the old inn at
Port Stone. Some of the yellow paint has peeled away, but Horcalus and the
others should still be able to tell it’s yellow.”

“Port
Stone?” asked Klye. “You sent Horcalus and the others to a city?”

Scout
chuckled. “No, no, no. It’s not a city. It was
never
big enough to be
considered a city. The Port of Stone was once a mining town that shipped coal
and other ore from the Rocky Crags down the Divine Divider River.

“But
it was abandoned during the Ogrebasher War, around the same time the Knights
left Fort Faith. Now Port Stone is just a ghost town…the perfect place for a
hideout.”

Klye
raised an eyebrow. “The Ogrebasher War?”

“Yeah,
you know, when the ogres tried to invade Continae. It ended sixty-some years ago,
if I’m not mistaken.”

“You
mean the Thanatan Conflict.”

“Ogrebasher
War…Thanatan Conflict…same thing. The ogres were ruthless warriors who used
hammers and clubs to…well…bash everything. Ogrebasher War sounds like a more
appropriate name if you ask me.” Scout took a deep breath before adding, “I’ve
heard lots of stories about that war, but those tales aren’t nearly as old as
the legend of Wizard’s Mountain.”

Klye
was trying to keep his mind on what they might face ahead but after a full
minute of silence, he sighed. “What’s the legend of Wizard’s Mountain?”

Scout
cleared his throat. “According to an elf my dad knew…or maybe he was a
half-elf. Anyway, a long time ago…more than a thousand years, I think…back when
the dwarves had just arrived in Capricon, an evil wizard hid something of great
power up on that mountain…the really tall one back there. It stands directly
over Port Stone. See it?”

Klye
looked over his shoulder and nodded.

“Well,
the wizard enchanted the
entire mountain
,” Scout continued. “Anyone who
comes looking for the treasure becomes cursed…only no one knows what the curse
does anymore. I used to have nightmares about that mountain, but when I got
older, I actually explored the summit of Wizard’s Mountain.”

“You
came to realize that the legend was just a fairytale,” Klye concluded.

“Oh
no, I believe the legend. Everyone knows that elves…and probably half-elves
too…keep better track of history than humans do. Curse or no curse, I just had
to see for myself what was up there.”

“What
was
up there?”

“Nothing.
The curse must have worn off because Wizard’s Mountain wasn’t any different
from the other crags. If a wizard hid something up there, he hid it very well.”

They
traveled in silence from that point on. After a while, they reached a small
copse, where they took cover in the trees. When Klye caught sight of a stone
structure in the distance, he nearly tripped over an exposed root.

Even
from a distance, Klye could see Fort Faith wasn’t as large as he had pictured.
The fortress had a blocky design. Two great wings protruded from middle, both
crowned with squat towers.

They
watched the fort for several minutes, Klye all but holding his breath.

The
fort appeared lifeless, but Klye had to be sure.

As
they crept closer, Klye noted the walls were in various states of disrepair,
and ivy covered much of the monolith. Then again, thought Klye, the fact that
Fort Faith was still standing after facing ogre besiegers was in itself a
testament to the small castle’s strength.

But
Klye lost all interest in architecture when he caught movement out of the
corner of his eye. He placed a hand on Scout’s arm as he came to a dead halt.

Two
men wearing full suits of armor walked the perimeter of the fort. Above them, a
banner flapped in the wind, its sunburst standard proclaiming the presence of
the Knights of Superius. The sentries turned sharply on their heels before
disappearing into their fort.

The
Renegades were too late.