Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (30 page)

PART 3

Passage I

Colt
saw only a small portion of the dark sky through the window on the other side
of his room. From that incomplete picture, he tried to identify the
constellations.

The
red star near the bottom-left corner of the window was the tip of the
Warriorlord’s spear. Or was it part of the Satyr’s panpipes? After a while, he
began inventing his own stellar constructions, including Lightning Bolt and The
Giant Monocle.

He
tried not to think of how much time was passing as the stars floated past his
window, revealing new pieces of the heavenly puzzle. He tried to stop thinking,
to switch off his brain like a clockwork device, but it didn’t work.

Surrendering
to the curse of sleeplessness, Colt threw back the quilt his mother had made
for him when he was but an infant. After pulling a long-sleeved shirt over his
head, he glanced at the sheathed blade resting against the bed frame. He had
the blanket and the sword to remind him of home but little else.

A
silver moon illuminated the quiet landscape below his window. His gaze was
drawn to the Rocky Crags and to one mountain in particular. It was called
Wizard’s Mountain, though he had yet to learn why.

Except
for the mountains, he might have been looking out of one of Castle Crystalus’s
windows. He couldn’t suppress a wistful sigh as he thought of the kith and kin
he had left behind by accepting this post.

Gods,
what is the matter with me? he wondered. I’ve been away from home for longer
stretches than this.

While
training to become a Knight of Superius, he had gone a full year between visits
home. But it wasn’t homesickness that kept Colt from getting a good night’s
sleep. For the past month, his mind was assailed by a single question: why had
he been chosen for this position?

Saerylton
“Colt” Crystalus was the youngest of three brothers, all Knights of Superius.
His eldest brother had only recently been promoted to the rank of captain of a
fortified city near Glenning. Colt, on the other hand, was only twenty-four and
already the commander of a fortress.

Granted,
Fort Faith was a relatively small fort, and Capricon was a long way from
influential Superius, but there were plenty of more qualified candidates out
there, men who had dutifully served the Knighthood for more years than Colt had
lived.

With
all due respect to King Edward Borrom III, how could Colt
not
wonder how
he, a fairly fresh face in the ranks, received such a promotion?

“It’s
simple, Saerylton,” Sir Petton had told him after a restless night. “The
Renegades in this province have gotten out of hand. Commander Bismarc does not
have enough men to patrol this far from Fort Valor, so we were summoned to keep
the rebels from running amok.”

Veteran
Knight and second-in-command at the fort, Gaelor Petton refused to call Colt by
his nickname on principle. Colt suspected that Petton inwardly cringed every
time one of the men called him Commander Colt, though Colt would have it no
other way. In his mind, “Commander Crystalus” was his father’s title.

Besides,
he had never cared much for the name Saerylton.

“I
know why the Knighthood chose to make Fort Faith an active base again,” Colt
had replied. “I just don’t know why I was placed in command. Clearly, you are
the better man for the job. I really don’t know what I would have done without
you these past weeks.”

Petton
acknowledged the compliment with a curt nod. It had taken a lot of work to make
Fort Faith habitable, not to mention organize the duty roster. Having been an
officer for all of nine weeks—eight of them spent in transit—Colt hadn’t known
where to start. Thankfully, Gaelor Petton had been at his side at every step of
the way.

“I
mean no disrespect, Commander,” Petton had said, “but has it occurred to you
that your surname might have something to do with your auspicious promotion? We
all know that King Edward does not wish to go to war with the Renegades.
Capricon’s forts…and the castles of Superius, for that matter…are populated
with as few Knights as is absolutely necessary. We are here to sit tight and
look intimidating until further notice, a task that does not necessarily
require a leader with much experience.”

Thinking
back on it tonight, Colt found himself smiling. At first, he had been offended
by Petton’s brusqueness, but he had come to realize that the lieutenant always
said exactly what was on his mind.

“I
never made a secret of my desire to confront the Renegades in open combat,”
Petton had added. “Apparently, my former commander grew tired of hearing my
complaints. That is why
I
am here.”

If
Gaelor Petton was bitter about his new assignment, he never showed it in his
work. The man did all that was required of him and more. Whether placed in the
thick of battle or at the edge of civilization, Sir Petton would never shirk
from his duties as a Knight.

And
yet, Colt could not accept his fate so easily.

As
he stared out the window at the still scenes outside the fort, his eyes tracing
the steep summit of Wizard’s Mountain, he pondered Petton’s words. Colt had
come to terms with the fact he wouldn’t even be at Fort Faith were he of a
noble family, but how could he ever hope to live up to his father’s reputation,
not to mention the valorous deeds of their ancestors. How could he be expected
to do so much so early in his career?

Sighing,
Colt turned away from the window. Albert, the fort’s physician, had given him
some herbs to induce sleep, but they had not worked. Maybe a midnight stroll
through the fortress’s interior would tire him out. He had promised Petton he
wouldn’t walk the ramparts like a common sentry, but he was under no obligation
to wait out the morning in his room.

On
his way to the door, Colt went to pick up his sword but then thought better of
it. While there was a certain comfort in keeping the sword close by—
Chrysaal-rûn
had belonged to his father and to his father’s father and so forth for as far
back as anybody could recollect—Colt doubted he would need a weapon during his
late-night stroll.

He
deserved
Chrysaal-rûn
as much as he deserved his command. Perhaps his
father had given him the crystal sword assuming his youngest son would need all
the help he could get.

His
mind flitted from thought to thought as he wandered one corridor after another.
When a faded tapestry caught his eye, he stopped to look it. The woven mural
was one of the few decorations that had survived both the passing of war and
the ravages of time. Albeit a bit faded and frayed, the tapestry clearly
depicted some long-ago battle between the Knights of Superius and another
knightly order Colt couldn’t identify.

A
short while later, he came upon a door he recognized. Impulsively, he brought
his hand up to knock, but he could come up with no reasonable excuse for waking
the woman inside at such a late hour.

He
jumped guiltily when someone called his name from farther down the hallway. It
was Chadwich Vesparis, one of the night patrolmen. The Knight was drenched, and
a chain of tiny lakes formed with every step he took.

When
had it started raining? Colt wondered. The sky had been perfectly clear
earlier. Yet now that he listened, he could hear heavy raindrops tapping
against the ceiling.

“I
have been looking everywhere for you,” Sir Vesparis said, performing a rigid
salute.

Colt
swallowed a lump in his throat and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I couldn’t sleep,
so I—”

“There
is a traveler at the front door, Commander. He wants to speak with you.”

Not
dressed for an audience of any sort, Colt said, “Unless it is an emergency,
tell the man I will meet with him in the morning. He is welcome to wait out the
storm in the infirmary.”

“You
did not let me finish,” Sir Vesparis said. “The traveler is not a man at
all…it’s a midge.”

Colt’s
breath caught in his throat. His eyes, which had flared open at the mention of
the midge, now closed as he silently prayed to the all the Gods of Good that
the Knight was mistaken.

*
         
*
         
*

Lilac
clutched her coat tightly around her. Her hair fell over her face and shoulders
in sodden clumps. She heard her mother’s voice, warning her of the dire
consequences of being outdoors with wet hair.

It
can’t be helped, she silently defended, not unless I want to give up being
clean.

She
had not needed her coat on the way to the river, a secluded bend in the Divine
Divider where she could bathe in privacy. But now the sun was setting, and she
might have been able to see her breath in the air if her body hadn’t lost all
its heat in the river’s chilly waters. It had felt more like late summer than
autumn back near Pillars, but at the foot of the Rocky Crags, winter loomed
just around the corner.

Wandering
down one of Port Stone’s empty streets, she spotted Crooker and Pistol fishing
from a pier. She hoped they managed to catch something for supper. Othello had
brought down a doe on their second day at the ghost town, but that meat was
already gone, and none of them had been able to find any wild vegetables
growing in the area.

Aside
from the limited cuisine, Lilac could not complain about their accommodations.
The ramshackle inn was comfortable. After everything they had endured with the
goblins, the Knights, and the assassins, it felt good to rest and let their
tightly-wound nerves loosen a little.

Although
this was only their fourth day in Port Stone, she was beginning to feel at home
in the ghost town—which startled her a bit. Ever since she had been old enough
to leave her father’s house and travel on her own, she had been doing just
that. In her twenty-six years, Lilac Zephyr had traveled from one end of
Continae to the other, and even though she had come to Capricon on dire
business, she had been more than a little excited at the prospect of going
somewhere new.

There
was a certain charm to the island, she thought. Even though Superius had
acquired Capricon more than three hundred years ago, Lilac felt as though she
were in an untamed land. Unlike Superius, with its populous cities and
patrolled highways, Capricon had yet to have all of its mysteries revealed.

Staying
in Port Stone was like living with one foot in the past.

During
her excursions throughout Continae, she had befriended folks from just about
everywhere. No group of sojourners, however, could compare with this band. The
Renegades were the most interesting people she had ever met. Klye sometimes
reminded her of her brother—albeit a moodier version.

She
sighed at the thought of the Renegade Leader, but her reverie was interrupted
by the sound of someone coming up behind her. Lilac gripped the hilt of the
vorpal sword and spun around, expecting to find anything from a brigade of
goblins to a cavalcade of Superian Knights.

But
it was only Scout.

The
hooded man was running toward her with all of his might, which made her wonder
if he was being chased. She squinted her eyes, looking past him, but she could
see very little of anything due to the lengthening shadows of the Rocky Crags.

“What
is it? Are you being followed?” Lilac asked.

Scout
shook his head. After a few gulps of breath, he said, “No. I don’t think he saw
me.”

“Who?”

Scout
didn’t answer. He was looking past Lilac toward the pier. Apparently the
pirates had taken note of Scout’s abrupt arrival, for they were already on
their way over.

“What’s
goin’ on?” Crooker asked.

Scout
took a deep breath. “All right…now I know I was supposed to be keeping watch at
the north end of town, but I figured the Knights, if they were to come back and
check on Port Stone, would come from the northeast anyway, so I decided to
follow the road in that direction. All was quiet until I got near that mountain
path we had used to cross the Rocky Crags.

“He
came out of nowhere. I dove for cover and waited until he was well past before
I raced back here. He couldn’t have seen me. Aladon’s eyebrows, I
hope
he didn’t see me.”

“Who?”
Lilac, Crooker, and Plake all demanded at once.

“A
midge,” Scout replied gravely.

Pistol
muttered a curse as colorful as it was filthy. Lilac, on the other hand, was
speechless. After being ambushed by goblins, she had thought nothing about
Capricon would surprise her again. She had been wrong.

“You
think he’s followin’ us?” Crooker asked.

“Maybe
the
sai-morí
and Dark Lily were just the beginning of our problems,”
Pistol said. “The Knights could’ve hired another spell-caster. Gods, I hate
magic.”

Scout
was already shaking his head. “I don’t think the Knights would stoop
that
low. Besides, he…I think it was a he…was heading east.”