Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (33 page)

The
Knights hadn’t yet required the surgeon’s services, so Albert spent most of his
time in his room, reading and writing.

Colt
was curious what the old man was working on, but Albert deftly changed the
subject whenever he brought it up. Before handing the papers back to Albert,
Colt took a quick glance at them, hoping to gain some insight into the
surgeon’s hobby. Sadly, the pages were blank.

“Thank
you,” Albert said, shuffling the pages together. Bobbing his head, which was
bald save a few white hairs that tenaciously clung to his temples, he wished
them a good day before disappearing around the corner.

“I
don’t like him,” Cholk said flatly once Albert was gone.

“You
don’t like anybody,” Colt countered.

Cholk
snorted but didn’t deny the charge.

They
descended the stairs at the end of the corridor. Apparently, Cholk intended to
meet the midge. Colt supposed it a good sign the dwarf wasn’t carrying his
enormous battle-axe.

Two
Knights stood guard beside the guestroom door. They snapped to attention when
they saw Colt approaching. After learning that Noel had slept like a log all
night and had yet to make a peep, Colt dismissed the Knights. They hesitated
for but a second before thanking him and making their escape.

“Maybe
you should’ve kept them here just in case,” Cholk said, “not that two Knights
would make much of a difference if the midge attacks.”

“He’s
not going to attack,” Colt argued—though who could say for sure?

Colt
knocked lightly on the door.

“Just
let me know if you need me to throw him out. I’ll have my hands around his
scrawny throat before he can even think about squeaking out a spell.”

Colt
shot the dwarf an unamused look before knocking again. They waited another full
minute, but there was no reply.

“Maybe
he’s a sound sleeper. Want me to knock the door down?” Cholk asked.

Colt
turned the knob. The midge hadn’t bolted the door, so he slowly inched it open,
peeking inside the room. Sunshine streamed through an open window, illuminating
an empty bed.

Colt
felt sick.

He
rushed into the chamber and searched the closet, under the bed, and beneath the
ruffled blankets that had been pushed onto the floor. He even looked out the
window, but there was no sign of the midge.

“Could
he have sneaked past the guards without them seeing him?” Colt asked.

Cholk
grunted. “Since when do midge need doors?”

Colt
was at a loss. Noel had probably wandered off to look for him, but Colt had no
way of knowing where in the fort the midge was now. He returned to the hallway,
uncertain where to begin, when heard an explosion that shook the very
foundations of the fortress.

He
and Cholk exchanged alarmed glances. Angry voices wafted down the stairs he and
Cholk had used moments ago. To his chagrin, Colt could make out Petton’s
baritone among the shouts and curses. Whatever had happened, he was certain the
midge was somehow involved.

Albert,
gray coat aflutter, came soaring down the stairs at the same time they reached
them. He was taking the steps two at a time and moving much quicker than Colt
would have thought possible. Albert’s usual serene expression was twisted by
rage.

“This
could have been prevented,” he was saying, continuing his rant without pause.
He seemed to be talking to himself and to Colt at the same time. “All I wanted
was privacy, but apparently that is too much to ask. You can find yourself
another surgeon, Commander, because I quit.”

Albert
Simplington pushed past them, earning a dark look from Cholk, but the doctor
never noticed. Still rambling and waving his stick-like arms in the air, he
disappeared around a corner.

Colt
considered rushing after Albert, but then three more people arrived on the
stairway. Lieutenant Petton, maintaining a clamp-like grip around Noel’s upper
arm, half-led, half-dragged the midge alongside him. Opal followed closely
behind the two, looking as confused as Colt felt.

“What’s
going on?” Colt demanded.

“I
might ask you the same thing, Commander,” the lieutenant replied. “Imagine my
surprise to learn we have put up a midge for the night.”

Colt
felt his face burn. “I’ll explain later, Lieutenant. Meanwhile, what was that
loud crash? And why is Albert so angry?”

Noel
tried to take a step forward, but Petton yanked him back beside him. Cutting
the midge off with a glare, the Knight replied, “Apparently, our guest took the
liberty of breaking into Albert’s room and snooping through his possessions. I
heard the doctor shouting from down the hall and got there just in time to see
the midge shoot fire out of his staff, which Albert narrowly avoided.”

“My
name is Noel, not ‘the midge,’” Noel said, trying again to wrench away from
Petton.

“What
were you doing in Albert’s room?” Colt asked.

Noel
regarded Colt with such an innocent expression that Colt almost felt guilty for
asking the question. “I’m so sorry Colt. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble, I
promise. I was looking for you because the sun was up, and we were going to
talk this morning, but then I was walking past that room, and it was calling to
me, and I just had to go inside.”

“Gods
help us!” Cholk exclaimed. “He hears voices.”

Noel
stomped his foot. “It wasn’t a
real
voice. It was more like I was being
pulled there. Because I’m such a good wizard myself, I can sometimes feel when
there’s magic nearby, and there was lots of magical stuff in that room. There
was a lot of magic in Albert, too.”

“He’s
either lying or he’s crazy,” Cholk said.

“Albert
is just an old surgeon,” Opal said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll admit
he’s a bit eccentric, but he’s no wizard.”

“Yes,
he is. But I can’t prove it now because he made all of his spell books and
magical par-a-pher-na-li-a disappear before this guy got there.” Noel jerked a
thumb at Sir Petton. “The only reason I shot a fireball at him was because he
tried to kill me first.”

Cholk
scoffed.

“I
swear I’m telling the truth, Colt.” The midge looked absolutely miserable, and
Colt was surprised to find he wanted to believe Noel. None of it made any
sense, but standing before a midge, he wondered why that should surprise him.

“I
think it’s time our guest was on his way,” Petton said.

“But
we never had our talk!” Noel protested, looking pleadingly at Colt. “You can’t
throw me out for defending myself. He attacked me first!”

“Maybe
I should fetch Albert so he can provide us with the other side of the story,”
Opal suggested. “I was just on way out for a ride anyway.”

Colt
nodded his thanks and watched the woman walk away, envying her freedom. He
turned around to confront the midge once more, only to find Noel regarding him
with a big smile. Colt suspected he didn’t want to know the answer, but he
asked anyway.

“Noel,
why are you smiling?”

“It’s
like I said last night. The gods sent me here. I didn’t know why at first, but
maybe it has to do with Albert. Who knows what that strange wizard was up to?”

Colt
shook his head, avoiding both Petton and Cholk’s disapproving frowns and
wondering how he was going to figure out what
this
strange wizard was up
to.

Passage IV

It
was so late it was early. Klye’s physical exhaustion from his hike to Fort
Faith and back was compounded by his worry for Horcalus.

He
considered following the man but thought better of it. For one thing, Klye
didn’t know what he could say to convince Horcalus to stay away from the
Knights. For another, the man probably just needed some space—and a few hours
of rest.

Not
going after Horcalus proved to be a mistake.

Horcalus
did not return to the inn during the night. When morning came, Klye struck out
to search Port Stone, but Horcalus was nowhere to be found. It was Othello who
found the path of muddy footprints leading down a side avenue to the outskirts
of town. By Klye’s command, the archer followed the tracks for half of a mile
before returning to the inn, where everyone was now gathered.

By
Othello’s estimates, Horcalus had maintained a straight course out onto the
plains, heading in a northeasterly direction. Horcalus had not been bluffing,
Klye realized; the rogue knight fully intended to present himself to the
inhabitants of Fort Faith.

Klye
was frustrated, angry, and apprehensive all at once. A part of him was quick to
point out Horcalus was his own man. He had made it clear he was done with the
Renegades. If he wanted to turn himself over to murderers, that was his mistake
to make.

As
a Renegade Leader, Klye had a responsibility to the remaining members of his
band. He didn’t want to believe that Horcalus would betray them, but there was
a chance he would tell the Knights about the rebels’ camp in Port Stone.

But
Klye was finding it difficult to order his men to pack up and leave. After all
they had been through together, could he really stand by and let Horcalus walk
into a den of hungry lions?

When
Klye announced his decision to pursue Horcalus, no one wanted to stay behind.
Some of their enthusiasm was surely due to being a little restless. Klye
couldn’t bring them all, however. He wasn’t ready to abandon their hideout,
and, besides, a large troupe would only slow him down.

He
would have to take Scout, for he needed his knowledge of the terrain. Othello’s
tracking abilities, not to mention those uncanny eyes that saw danger before
anyone else’s, were also indispensable.

Lilac
refused to stay behind. Klye almost argued with the woman, but he remembered
how Lilac had left her luxurious life in Superius behind to try to protect
Horcalus and Ragellan.

She
had saved Horcalus’s life once; maybe she could do so again.

Little
was said as the four Renegades departed Port Stone that morning. Even Scout
seemed subdued, keeping his many theories and stories to himself for once. The
man’s face was clouded by grief, and Klye wondered if the man felt somehow
responsible for Horcalus’s sudden departure.

It
wasn’t Scout’s fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, Klye reasoned.

But
as he thought back on the long trek from the Citadel Dungeon to ruins of Port
Stone, Klye wondered why he hadn’t foreseen this inevitable bend in the road.

*
         
*
         
*

She
almost felt guilty for leaving Colt to deal with Noel—for Cholk and Sir Petton
were more likely to be a hindrance than a help in managing the midge—but Opal
wouldn’t miss her morning ride for all the riches in Afren-Ckile.

I’ll
help him by retrieving Albert, she thought. Maybe I can cool the old man down a
bit and learn what really happened between him and Noel.

She
pocketed two apples from the larder on her way through the western wing of the
fort, smiling innocently at the Knight who had been placed in charge of the
kitchen. The burley warrior-turned-cook complained good-naturedly about her
freeloading, which he did nearly every day. Opal didn’t know the man’s name,
but he knew hers, which was unsurprising since she was the only woman at Fort
Faith.

“If
I catch you in here again, snitching food for that poor excuse for horseflesh,
I’ll see to it you spend a night in the dungeon,” the Knight threatened,
holding a wooden spoon aloft as though it were a sword.

“It’s
so cold and spooky down there,” Opal said with exaggerated terror. “I might
need a big, strong Knight to keep me warm.” She was back out in the hallway
before the man could reply, tucking the apples in the pockets of her riding
jacket.

The
new stable wasn’t much to look at—there wasn’t a proper carpenter among the
Knights—but it was solid and kept out the weather. The rough wooden planks made
it resemble the gnarled trunk of some stalwart tree growing out of the side of
a mountain. The recent addition to the fort had been built on the same spot as
the old stable, which had been little more than a pile of rotted timber when
they had arrived.

The
Knight who generally tended to the horses was nowhere to be found, so Opal made
a mental note to scold the man for leaving his post when she saw him next. The
stableman’s ruddy complexion tended to darken to an even deeper red whenever
she teased him, which was often.

Apart
from the time she spent with Colt within the fort, Opal spent much of the day
in the stable. She felt at ease with the horses. As she walked past the stalls,
she greeted each of the steeds by name, patting their heads and scratching
their favorite spots.

By
the time she reached the end of the row, Nisson was shaking her head
impatiently and whinnying. Compared to the massive war-horses the Knights kept,
Opal’s mount looked more like a pony. Yet she knew the Knights’ fastest charger
was no match for Nisson.

Stepping
into the last stall, she stroked the white mare’s forehead and laughed when the
animal began poking its long snout under her jacket.

“You
know me too well,” Opal said, producing one of the apples. “Here you go, girl.”

While
Nisson contentedly munched on the tasty treat, Opal saddled the horse. She
spoke to Nisson as though the horse were an old friend, which she was. Opal had
purchased the animal from a Ristidaen rancher years ago, when Nisson was little
more than a filly.

She
had gotten a good deal too. According to the rancher, Nisson—the elfish word
for “impulsive”—had proven impossible to tame. The man had strongly encouraged
her to pick a different horse.

But
Opal had already fallen in love with the spirited beast. Young Nisson did prove
to be challenging, but as they left the ranch far behind, Nisson grew less and
less defiant. Opal had immediately removed the metal bit from Nisson’s mouth,
and it wasn’t long before she did away with the bridle altogether.

As
the years passed, their relationship evolved beyond master and mount.

Opal
smiled as she told Nisson about Albert’s spat with the midge. “We’re going to
find the old man before he gets himself lost. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

One
of the Knights patrolling outside the main gate told her Albert had headed to
the south, heading toward the congregation of trees less than a mile from the
fort’s doorstep.

“He’ll
no doubt stick to the shade,” the Knight predicted. “It’s destined to be a hot
one today. What was the doctor so upset about, anyway?”

“He
wanted me to marry him, but I turned him down,” she replied with a wink.

She
gave Nisson’s flank a nudge, and the horse broke into a gallop, leaving the
fort and its grinning sentry far behind. The mare raced across the open land,
breaking headlong into the wind, eager to test her limits. Opal held onto
Nisson’s mane, reveling in their speed.

She
let the horse choose its own direction for a while before leaning to the left.
Nisson snorted and altered course, heading over to the copse of trees. Opal
gave the horse’s mane a slight tug once they reached the woods, and Nisson
slowed to a steady trot. They followed the line of trees, skirting the woods
but staying near enough for Opal’s gaze to penetrate its shadows.

According
to the sentry, Albert had left on foot. By Opal’s estimation, she would
overtake the doctor in minutes.

From
the woods, she could hear wrens flitting from branch to branch and filling to
air with their beautiful, chaotic music. Colt would sometimes join her on her
morning jaunts, but today she was happy to enjoy the morning in silence.

She
enjoyed Colt’s company well enough, but the man tended to ask a lot of
questions, mostly about what it was like to have no memory of the first
eighteen or so years of her life. Opal didn’t like discussing her amnesia, as
the healers had named it. She had wasted the past couple of years trying to
find out who she was before waking up on that frontier trade road with no money
and no name.

Continuing
her search here in Capricon was a longshot at best. Or maybe it was time to
move on. During the voyage to the island, she had realized how weary she was of
bothering strangers with questions they couldn’t answer.

She
had lost so much of her life as it was. Why squander more of it on a hopeless
quest?

“It’s
time I stop trying to find out who I was and learn who I am.”

Her
own words, spoken aloud, broke the spell of her reverie. She told Nisson to
stop, which she did, immediately lowering her head to graze on a patch of
clover. Opal absently scratched the mare’s back as she peered into the woods. A
quick search ahead and behind revealed they had gone much farther south than
she had intended.

And
still no sign of Albert Simplington.

Could
she have missed him? Or had the old man gone deeper into the woods than she had
assumed. But why would Albert head into the woods unless he was trying to hide?

And
just why in the hells was he running away in the first place?

Opal
glanced back at the open plain. The land was flat and featureless. A lone
traveler would stick out like a giant among gnomes.

“We
must have passed him.”

Nisson,
busy chewing, didn’t reply.

Deciding
to let the mare enjoy her green breakfast—it wouldn’t be long before winter
robbed her of that joy—Opal dismounted and removed the other apple from her
satchel. Nisson snorted.

“Sorry,
girl. This one’s for me.”

She
took a bite, wiping the juice from her chin with the back of her hand. After a
short rest, she would head back up along the fringe of the woods. Lost in her
daydream, she must have simply passed Albert by. It was as simple as that.

As
she stared into the distance at the sprawling lowlands, she realized she was
squinting. The sun was still a few hours from its highest point in the bold
blue sky, but its rays were already bearing down on her, warming the exposed
flesh of her face and hands. There was always a wind when Nisson galloped, but
now the air hardly stirred around her.

Holding
her apple between her teeth, Opal unslung her quiver before removing the heavy,
woolen jacket, laying them both on the ground at her feet. The brisk air sent
goosebumps racing down her bare arms, but Opal found it refreshing.

She
sat down on the ground, not caring if her trousers got a little dirty and
thought that it was a perfectly beautiful morning. If not for Albert, she might
have lingered there for the rest of the day, basking in the unseasonably warm
day.

Opal
took another bite of the apple, pondering the mystery that was Albert
Simplington. People tended to be jumpy around midge, but the doctor’s reaction
was downright strange. Albert had always seemed to her a mild-mannered
creature. She had never seen him get even a little miffed until that morning.

Perhaps
Noel was right, she mused with a smile. Albert had cast a magical spell and
simply flew away…

Nisson
snorted.

“Just
a minute, you glutton,” she told the horse. “You can have the core when I’m
done.”

Then
Nisson made a sound Opal had never heard before. She scrambled to her feet in
time to see four people emerge from the trees beyond Nisson, running right for
them. Dropping the half-eaten fruit to the ground, Opal reached for her
crossbow, fumbling with the straps that held the weapon against the side of
Nisson’s saddle.

“I
don’t think that’s such a good idea,” one of the men said, as he and another
guy wearing an open-faced, black hood came around one side of the horse.

The
man who had spoken carried a thin-bladed sword, which he pointed at her chest
as he stepped forward. The other man held a knife and lingered near Nisson’s
head. He probably would have probably grabbed the reins if there had been any.

At
the same time, a woman with an elaborately decorated sword and a tall man with
a longbow circled around from Nisson’s rear. The archer had an arrow nocked and
aimed at her neck. Opal let the leather strips fall from her fingers and
reluctantly turned away from her crossbow to face the leader of the group.