Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (43 page)

The
words sounded hollow to Arthur, but the others, especially Horcalus, seemed to
take some comfort in them. Only in looking at Horcalus did Arthur find any
reason to feel anything aside from numbness. He would probably never see him
again because Dominic Horcalus was not going to hell.

When
Noel appeared in the midst of them, heralded by a flash of bright light, Arthur
didn’t jump to his feet as the others did. The pirates had their hands on their
weapons, ready to kill the midge if it came down to it.

“You’re
just in time, Noel—”

It
must have been a fool’s errand, some flimsy excuse that had sent Noel away so
that Klye could construct the plan that would simultaneously free Scout and
capture the Prince of Superius.

“The
prince is evil!” Noel shouted.

“What
are you talking about?” Klye demanded.

It
was like watching a play at the harvest fair.

“I
saw him using a magical mirror, and somehow he knew I was there even though—”

“Slow
down, Noel. So what if he owns an enchanted mirror. He’s a prince. He can
afford all manner of magical trinkets. And if he was holding a mirror, he
probably saw your reflection in it.”

“He’s
eeevil! He cast a spell at me!”

“Well,
maybe he knows a little magic.”

“Klye,
the Prince of Superius is not a spell-caster, of that I am—”

Noel
interrupted Horcalus. “It wasn’t magic. It was…something else…something much
darker.”

Arthur
watched Klye’s reaction, wondering if the Renegade Leader believed Noel,
wondering if the midge had planned a trick of his own, and knowing that it
didn’t matter if he had.

“I
tried to tell you that we weren’t the bad guys,” Klye told the midge. “Now I need
you to cast a spell that will take us all inside the fort.”

“Why?”

“You
are going to take Horcalus and some of the others to where Scout is being held
while I go and meet this evil prince.”

The
midge paused to consider his options, but Arthur thought those few seconds were
a waste of time. Like the Renegades, Noel was already under Klye’s spell, a
confidence-borne glamour that dangled hope like a carrot before a donkey. Noel
would cooperate. He would provide the Renegades with a way through the very gates
of Thanatos’ Crypt if Klye asked.

“All
right, I’ll do it.”

*
         
*
         
*

The
sound of silverware scraping across plates filled the space where conversation
was wont to dwell. Commander Crystalus had attempted to engage the prince in
discussions on various topics only to be rudely rebuffed on all fronts.

Petton
could not understand why Prince Eliot held Saerylton Crystalus—and apparently
the rest of Fort Faith’s Knights—in such low esteem. He supposed the prince and
his father had a right to be angry with whomever they wished, even though they
had done nothing to earn the royal family’s displeasure.

Perhaps
Petton could forgive the prince his hasty judgement against their meager
progress at Fort Faith, but he could not excuse the man’s complete lack of
manners, the absence of the very poise that supposedly elevated a nobleman
above the common rabble.

Lieutenant
Petton sat beside Saerylton, sharing in the uncomfortable silence that followed
each of the commander’s attempts at civil conversation. For his part, Prince Eliot
seemed immune to the effect his conversational barricades had on his host, an
honorable man who had done everything in his power to make the prince’s welcome
as cordial as possible.

Saerylton
half-heartedly poked at his food. Petton likewise was finding it difficult to
enjoy the meal. He wanted nothing more than to hoist Eliot Borrom up by his
collar and shake some decency into the young man—prince or no prince. Of
course, he could do nothing of the sort. Assaulting the prince would not only
end his career, but also cost him his life.

The
two guards positioned behind the prince, not eating but dutifully scrutinizing
each and every Knight present, landed their gazes on him every now and then. To
Petton, it seemed as though their narrowed eyes were taunting him, daring him
to make even a single questionable move.

He
met their stares without flinching, taking another bite of venison and chewing
the richly seasoned meat but not tasting it. With his eyes, he told them, “I
won’t make the first move, but I would be all too happy to knock those
self-righteous smirks from off your faces if you give me an excuse.”

The
dinner was taking far too long, Petton thought, but in truth he had lost track
of time. They might have been sitting there for only a few minutes. The absence
of speech, of civil debate and friendly banter alike, stretched the very
seconds so that he might take three bites of bread between the ticks of a
clock.

Petton,
who had never been accused of being prolix, was surprised at the mounting
frustration he felt at each clank of a cup, at every clink of a fork. The
noises of eating, chewing, even breathing stirred in him an acute and
irrational anger. This farce must end! his mind screamed. Someone must speak,
or I shall surely lose my mind.

And
then someone did speak, cutting through the noisy silence like a blade through
bread.

“Tell
me, Commander,” the prince said in a sing-songy tone of false sincerity, “just
how many miles do you suppose the local Renegades have covered while you and
your men made minor repairs to this crumbling fort…and while your cooks
squandered your rations on this pathetic meal?”

Saerylton’s
pallor lost what little color it had possessed. The commander’s mouth moved,
but no words came out. Colt looked utterly defeated.

Before
he could stop himself, Petton rose to his feet. He did not know what he planned
to say, but Eliot Borrom had gone too far. Damn the consequences, the spoiled
son of a bitch was going to get an earful. The twin bodyguards looked stunned
for a moment, but quickly positioned themselves between Petton and their
charge. Prince Eliot merely looked amused.

Then
Saerylton stood up and, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, gave Petton
a look that said, “It’s not worth it.”

“Is
there something on your mind, Lieutenant?” the prince asked.

“Alarm!
Alarm! Renegades in the fort!”

The
shout, which was being repeated and growing louder by the moment, interrupted
the tense scene at the table, and suddenly everyone was staring in mute wonder
at the entrance to the dining hall. Within seconds, Sir Silvercrown flung
himself through the doorway, out of breath but still shouting anyway.

“Renegades
have been spotting inside the fort,” he cried. “To arms!”

The
Knights abandoned their meals and hurried to their positions. Each of them was
already armed and knew his place in the grand strategy of the fortress’s
defense. Petton had made certain of that.

He
cast a glance back at Commander Crystalus before motioning for his men to
gather around him. Then he was leading his squadron out of the hall and down
the corridors that would take them to the fort’s dungeon, where the Renegade
known simply as Scout was imprisoned.

Passage XIV

Prince
Eliot maintained his sharp silence during the march from the dining hall,
through corridors, and up various flights of stairs. He continued to wear the
mask of perpetual annoyance, but that was no easy chore because inwardly he was
feeling downright giddy.

From
what little he had gleaned from the words passed between Commander Crystalus
and his officers, the Renegades had penetrated the fort’s defenses and were, at
that moment, somewhere inside. That information alone was enough to bring a
smile to the prince’s face, though he managed to bury his emotions.

He
had come a great distance in search of this band of Renegades, had suffered
through the pitiful pomp and ceremony provided by not one, not two, but
three
castles in the hope one of these damned Knights might know where Ragellan and Horcalus
were hiding. The fools at the Celestial Palace and Fort Valor had given him
little help in his quest. And while the Commander of Fort Faith had encountered
the rebels only a few short days ago, he had lost them altogether.

But
now the very Renegades he had been seeking were coming to him!

His
bodyguards bristled at being hurried down the halls, glaring at the Knights who
were practically pushing them to some secret destination. The prince gave his
guards a look of warning, silently encouraging their cooperation. He couldn’t
blame the two of them for their attitude. Surely it took all of the disguised
goblins’ discipline to refrain from lashing out at the humans.

Eliot
supposed Commander Crystalus was taking him far from the action, and his
momentary joy melted away. He longed to rip off the young commander’s head, but
now was not the time to be hasty. He needed time to plan his next move.

The
prince was beginning to fear Crystalus had decided to give him a tour of Fort
Faith after all, when they finally came to a stop.

“We’ll
be safe here,” the man said. “Even if the Renegades make it past Sir
Silvercrown’s men, we have more than enough Knights here to protect you.”

Prince
Eliot did not doubt the man’s words, for the room they entered, while fairly spacious,
felt crowded due to the twenty-some inhabitants. He doubted he would catch even
a glimpse of the Renegades should they make it this far. With Lieutenant Petton
lurking in the dungeon, Sir Silvercrown’s squadron making an orderly sweep of
the fortress, and Commander Crystalus and his men posting guard in this tower,
there was little chance he would see battle.

And
that was simply unacceptable.

“Commander,
don’t you think you ought to reinforce Sir Silvercrown’s unit with some of your
own men?” he asked.

Saerylton
Crystalus returned his stare, looking absolutely perplexed. “Whatever for, my
prince?”

“This
room is far too small to wage a battle. Better to use your familiarity of Fort
Faith’s halls and passages to your advantage. Outmaneuver the Renegades and
surround them.”

“But,
my prince, from all the information we have gathered, this is a small band. The
narrow hallways will work to their advantage. Besides, you are the Crown Prince
of Superius. Your protection is our utmost concern. Would you have us leave you
here all alone?”

Yes!
Eliot wanted to shout. Instead, he said, “The truth is, Commander, you do not
know how many Renegades are running amok in your castle. If the rebels defeat
your pockets of soldiers one by one, we all may well find ourselves trapped in
this little tower with no other choice but to surrender.”

Crystalus—the
poor, bewildered fool—stammered an unintelligible response. Perhaps he could
counter Eliot’s argument with a dozen logical reasons of his own. Perhaps he
suspected the Prince of Superius thirsted for battle. In the end, it didn’t
matter. The commander could not deny his prince whatever he wished.

“Send
all but three of your Knights to reinforce Silvercrown’s unit,” Eliot said
evenly.

Crystalus
looked like he wanted to argue. Tears of frustration glistened in the corners
of his eyes. It was all the prince could do to keep from sneering triumphantly.

“Be
at ease, Commander. Should the Renegades make it this far, you will find that I
am quite capable at defending myself.”

As
the commander gave the order to his Knights, Eliot took a seat behind the old
desk, realizing, only then, that they had ended up in the commander’s office.
Propping his feet up on the drab piece of furniture, Prince Eliot studied the
war room.

He
almost felt sorry for the commander when the door slammed shut behind the last
Knight. It was clear Saerylton Crystalus didn’t want to leave Fort Faith. But
as he took in their unspectacular surroundings, Eliot Borrom couldn’t guess
why.

It
took the prince a moment to realize something was amiss. Since his two
bodyguards were standing on either side of him, he expected to find Commander
Crystalus huddled near his remaining three Knights. And yet, with the commander
standing off to the side, Eliot saw there were still four Knights in front of
the door.

Irritated,
Eliot turned to the commander. “Are you hard of hearing, or do you simply lack
the ability to count? I said—”

The
prince trailed off when his eyes came to rest on one of the four Knights, who
was shorter than the other three, carried a large axe, and wore a suit of armor
the likes of which Eliot had never seen. He leaned forward to inspect the black
plate mail and horned helm.

The
warrior must have felt the prince’s eyes upon him, for he took a bold step toward
him and removed his helmet.

Eliot’s
breath caught in his throat.

“Cholk
here is not one of my Knights, Your Highness,” the commander said, “which is
why he is exempt from your order.”

A
growl escaped from the goblin on his right.

“A
dwarf.” Eliot spat the words out like a wad of rancid meat. “What in the hells
is a dwarf doing here?”

*
         
*
         
*

As
they descended into the bowels of the fortress, an icy fist clenched Horcalus’s
heart. The entire weight of Fort Faith seemed to rest upon his shoulders even
as the narrow walls closed in around him. At the entrance to the dungeon,
Horcalus had taken note of two ensconced torches but had decided against taking
one. While the flickering flames would keep them from bumping into one another,
the radiance would also betray their presence to any guards.

The
oppressive darkness only added to his discomfort.

Noel
led the way, and Horcalus kept close behind the midge. He didn’t like the idea
of working with a midge or the possibility of harnessing magic to achieve their
objective. Horcalus was forced to admit, however, that Noel’s magic had
effortlessly whisked them past Fort Faith’s outer defenses.

They
had been lucky thus far, having encountered no resistance since parting ways with
Klye’s group. And yet Horcalus felt anything but lucky at that moment. Why
hadn’t there been any Knights posted at the entrance to the dungeon? Did the
absence of sentries indicate no prisoners were being held down there? If so,
where were they keeping Scout? Was he even still alive?

Horcalus
kept a wary eye on Noel, ready for any sign of treachery. Behind him, he could
hear the others’ footsteps. Arthur, Pistol, and Crooker were all keeping pace
with him. There was no noise besides the sound of their breathing and the
cadence of their feet against the stone floor.

His
own breaths were long and deep, as though he were trying to suck up as much air
as he could with each inhalation. Ever since his time in the Citadel Dungeon,
he bore no love for closed-in spaces.

The
stillness of the dungeon frayed his nerves. He expected to find a squadron of
Knights lurking around every corner. But as the four Renegades followed Noel
farther and farther down the insufferably tight passageway, they saw no sign of
anyone else.

Noel
came to a sudden stop. Horcalus nearly tripped over the midge and had to steady
himself by grabbing an iron bar to keep his balance.

He
was on the verge of reprimanding Noel when it dawned on him that where there
was one bar, there was bound to be others. He pressed his face up to the space
between them and peered into the cell. The inside was one great shadow.

When
a shape drew up to the bars, Horcalus took a quick step back, his heart
pounding ever louder in his chest.

“Who’s
there?”

A
wave of relief washed over Horcalus. “Be at ease, my friend. We have come to
rescue you.”

“Horcalus?”
Scout sounded sincerely surprised.

“None
other,” he replied, using his hands to find to the door of the cell. His
fingers roamed up and down the frame until he found the handle. Of course, it
was locked.

“Who
else is here? Is that you, Arthur? And…well I’ll be a minotaur’s uncle, the
midge was telling the truth.”

“Hi,
Scout,” Noel said.

Horcalus
searched for a latch or bolt and realized their dilemma when his index finger
found the impression of the keyhole.

“Damnation.”
He gave the door a quick jerk, testing its integrity, but for all of its years,
the cell door was as sturdy as an anvil. What now? he wondered. Breaking and
entering was Klye’s forte, not his. Perhaps the pirates had some experience
picking locks…

In
answer to his unspoken question, Pistol came forward. The former pirate king
emitted a low humming as he examined the lock, sounding more than a little like
a growling wildcat. In spite of the indomitable darkness, Horcalus could almost
see the deep frown on Pistol’s face.

“Maybe
if I had some tools,” Pistol sighed. “Nine times out of ten, it’s better to use
force than to waste time tinkerin’ with a simple lock.”

“So
who brought the spike and mallet?” Horcalus groused, feeling despair encroach
once more upon the battlefield of his soul.

Then
he felt a tugging at his sleeve. “I can open it,” Noel said.

“Do
you have the key?” Horcalus asked.

“No,
but I can melt the bars with my staff.”

Horcalus
shook his head. What difference would it make they were separated from Scout by
a row of sturdy bars or messy columns of misshapen slag? Or worse, the midge
might end up immolating them all with a wave of fire.

“No
magic,” Horcalus stated.

Noel
expressed his disappointment with a loud sigh. “You’re just like the Knights.”

Horcalus
smiled in spite of himself.

After
a few moments of silence, Arthur spoke for the first time that day. “If the
midge can get the lock hot enough, a solid swing with my hatchet should be able
to shatter it.”

Horcalus
turned around to regard the boy, though, of course, he could make out little
more than the outline of his body. It wasn’t what Arthur had said that evoked
the knight’s curiosity, but rather how he said it. His monotone betrayed no
fear—no emotion at all.

“Gods
know I hate magic as much as the next guy,” Pistol said, “but the kid’s got a
point.”

After
sending a silent prayer up to the Benevolent Seven, Horcalus turned to Noel and
said, “All right, but please be careful.”

“Well,
of course I’ll be careful,” Noel replied, as the blue jewel at the end of his
staff began to glow. “That’s the first rule of casting spells.”

Noel’s
words did little to reassure Horcalus. The midge touched the tip of his staff
to the cell door. Within seconds the metal brightened to a reddish orange. Gods
above, thought Horcalus, it’s actually working!

But
their victory was short-lived.

“Renegades!”
came a voice from behind. “We have you surrounded! Surrender your weapons
immediately!”

*
         
*
         
*

Klye
lunged to the side, slamming painfully against the wall. Lilac, Plake, and
Othello followed his lead, and the four of them pressed themselves as close as
they could to the unyielding stone. Seconds later, a patrol of Knights came
running by, racing down a perpendicular corridor. The enemy was so close that
the wind from their passing ruffled Klye’s hair.

A
single Knight had but to spare a glance to his right, and all would be lost.

Klye
held his breath until the last soldier was out of sight and waited another
fifteen seconds before poking his head around the corner. When he was certain
no more Knights were on the way from any of the three directions, he stepped
out into the intersection.

The
directions Noel had given him were proving less than reliable. The great staircase
that ascended from the main hall had taken them to the second level before
splitting into two smaller stairways. He knew Fort Faith featured two towers on
each side but was having trouble locating the steps that would take them
higher.