Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (44 page)

“That
was too close,” Plake said. “What are the odds we’re going to stumble upon the
prince by pure luck?”

Klye
didn’t spare the man a glance. “You can go wherever you wish, Plake, but I’m
guessing that once the alarm was raised, Prince Eliot was hurried away to a
safe place as far away from the action as possible…somewhere off the beaten
path.”

Plake
muttered something, but Klye was already pressing forward. He followed the
narrow corridor for another few minutes, maintaining his breakneck speed until
he could proceed no farther. The hall ended abruptly, branching into two
equally foreign avenues. By his estimation, they were facing the northernmost
wall of the fort’s interior.

He
looked down both corridors but saw nothing to distinguish one as the proper
course. His options were clear—left or right—and yet nothing Noel had told him
hinted that the western wing was any more promising than the eastern one. Each
wing had its own tower. Prince Eliot could have sought refuge just as easily in
one as the other.

“Now
what?” Plake asked. “We’re lost, and we have that stupid midge to thank for
it.”

Klye
said nothing. He didn’t believe in luck, but this was a matter of sheer chance.
All he had been working for these past few months boiled down to the flip of a
coin. He considered splitting up but decided against it.

He
had risked everything by invading Fort Faith. Now was not the time to get
timid.

“We
should go right,” Plake said.

“Why
right?” Lilac asked.

Plake
folded his arms sagaciously. “Because right’s always right.”

Klye
found no humor in the pun, but on the other hand, he had no reason to argue
with Plake’s assessment. One way was as good as another. He looked to Lilac and
then to Othello, welcoming a better suggestion, but the two had nothing to add.

“Right
it is, then,” Klye declared and immediately started down that path. The
haphazard decision didn’t sit well in his stomach, but he supposed he would
have felt the same doubt if he had chosen left.

His
thoughts turned to Father Elezar inexplicably. Elezar had truly believed his
god was looking out for the rebels, and while Klye had never put credence in
divine intervention, he had to admit he had had more narrow escapes than his
fair share. If they made it to Prince Eliot and back out of Fort Faith in one
piece, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

Klye
jerked to a stop when someone grabbed his shoulder. But it was only Othello.
Plake and Lilac came to a halt a few feet ahead, and then the three of them
followed Othello’s line of sight back down the hallway.

He
heard the footsteps only a moment before someone emerged from the narrow hall.
Unlike Klye and his band, the individual didn’t stop, did not hesitate, before
choosing the left fork.

“Who
was that guy?” Plake whispered. “Looked kind of scrawny for a Knight.”

“That
was no man,” As Othello stared after the retreating figure, his face softened
in a way that Klye had never seen before, but just what the emotion was, Klye
couldn’t decide. “It was Opal.”

“Who?”
Klye, Lilac, and Plake asked as one.

Othello’s
countenance stiffened as he uttered the single word: “Red.”

Klye
looked back down the hall. His lips stretching into a wide grin, and he traced
the scars the woman’s nails had left upon his cheek.

“We’ll
follow her,” Klye said. “Maybe she is on her way to the prince, and if not,
we’ll have to convince her to tell us where he is.”

All
doubt fizzled away as the four of them backtracked down the corridor, sprinting
in order to catch up with Red. After a few seconds, he saw her and a staircase
beyond.

Maybe
it was chance or luck or even the gods. Klye didn’t care. He knew this could
well be his last day among the living, but the thought couldn’t quell the fires
of anticipation, and he swore that one way or another, he would deal the enemy
a grievous blow before the day was over.

Passage XV

Opal
didn’t stop to catch her breath at the top of the stairs, but she did slow her
pace as she followed the hallway to Colt’s office.

She
had passed twenty or so Knights on her way up to the tower, and one of them
told her Prince Eliot had ordered them back down into the fortress to reinforce
Subcommander Silvercrown’s unit. While she was no general—she wasn’t even a
soldier—Opal thought the prince’s decision made no sense at all.

She
had been among the Renegades, and while they were few in number, they were more
cunning than the prince believed. Klye Tristan would not mindlessly wander into
the barricades of soldiers placed throughout the fort. He would find a way to
evade the patrols.

And
since she was too anxious to sit quietly in one spot, waiting like a spider for
prey to wander into its web, she had ditched the post where she and three other
Knights had been positioned and left to find Colt.

A
few feet from where the commander was guarding the Prince of Superius, Opal
came to complete stop. She had been avoiding Eliot Borrom since his arrival.
Her presence—like Cholk’s and Noel’s—would only raise more questions. More than
that, she didn’t trust her tongue in the presence of the royal snob. Even now,
when she wanted nothing more than to confront these rebels and win back her
dignity, she had more than enough anger left over for the arrogant prince.

She
decided to stand guard outside the war room. Leaning up against the cool wall,
Opal checked her crossbow. She glanced down the hallway—and saw Klye crest the
top of the stairs.

Opal
raised her crossbow and aimed it at the man’s face.

“That’s
far enough!” She watched with some satisfaction as Klye and the three Renegades
behind him came skidding to a stop.

She
was tempted to fire a bolt into Klye’s kneecap just for fun. So intently was
she watching the Renegade Leader, she didn’t see Othello until he stepped
between her and Klye.

“Don’t
move!” she shouted at the man, punctuating the command by altering her aim at
the archer’s heart.

Othello
proceeded forward.

“Stop!”
she cried again, not wanting to pull the trigger.

Though
he didn’t stop, Othello did slow. Opal looked pleadingly into his eyes. Did he
think she was bluffing? Clenching her teeth, Opal made up her mind to show him
and the other Renegades she most certainly was not.

But
then Othello stopped, standing no more than a foot away from the tip of her
arrow. His large hunter’s knife remained in its sheath, and his bow hung
unthreateningly over his shoulder. She looked into his eyes, trying to
understand his intent, but all she saw was grim determination.

Then
the man actually smiled. “Lower your weapon, Opal,” he said softly. “Even if
you kill me, even if you manage to kill two of us, you cannot hope to escape
the others. Save your life by saving ours.”

His
words held an almost prophetic authority. She didn’t want to kill him, and she
certainly didn’t want to die herself. But at the same time, she couldn’t let
the assassins go about their business.

Othello
placed his hand on top of her crossbow and gently eased it down until it
pointed at the floor. She didn’t stop him, lost as she was in the emerald
forests of his eyes.

In
her peripheral vision, Opal saw Klye Tristan advance. She tried to raise her
weapon, but there wasn’t enough time. With a solid left hook, the Renegade
Leader sent her reeling to the floor.

“Sorry,
Red. Now we’re even,” she heard him say.

The
last thing she saw before the black waves of unconsciousness swept over her was
Othello looking down at her sadly.

*
         
*
         
*

Horcalus
slowly turned to regard the man who had spoken. As he did so, several torches
flared to life, temporary blinding him. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out
a ring of Knights surrounding them. The pounding of footsteps and the creaking
of metal betrayed the presence of more Knights arriving from both directions.

Anticipating
the Renegades’ intentions, the dungeon’s sentries had hidden themselves beyond
Scout’s cell, patiently awaiting reinforcements from above.

Even
if they were foolhardy enough to try to fight their way out despite the
overwhelming numbers against them, the Knights had the superior position. Like
the pincer of a crab for which the maneuver was named, the Knights would push
forward and routinely crush the Renegades between their two attacking lines.

A
middle-aged soldier stepped forward. The Knight was clad in plate armor, though
an open-faced helm left his scowling visage visible. Horcalus’s eyes were drawn
to the medallion around the Knight’s neck, which denoted the rank of lieutenant.

Horcalus
held his hands up away from his weapon and called, “Hail, Lieutenant. We do not
wish to engage in combat. We came only to find our ally and friend.”

He
didn’t think it was likely they could talk their way out of Fort Faith, but the
only other option was to fight, and the four Renegades stood nary a chance
against a score of Superius’s finest.

“Your
friend is a Renegade spy,” the lieutenant said. “This man, who will not even
tell us his true name, is our enemy, as are all of you.”

The
Knight took another step forward and looked him up and down.

“I
have heard tell of two rogue Knights of Superius,” the lieutenant said, never
taking his eyes off of Horcalus. “These Knights were seduced into joining a
rebellion by promises of money and power.”

The
words paralyzed Horcalus as effectively as an eel’s sting.

“The
two traitors were discovered and imprisoned,” the lieutenant continued, “but
their stay at the Citadel Dungeon was woefully brief. One of their criminal
comrades freed them. Now these traitors wreak havoc in Capricon, unfettered by
the bonds of morality and justice.”

The
rapid beating of Horcalus’s heart had nothing to do with claustrophobia. Upon
hearing the disgraceful way that this Knight referred to him—and to Chester
Ragellan, the noblest man he had ever known—Horcalus wanted nothing more than
to silence the lieutenant forever.

Yet
he dared not move for fear that the Knight was merely trying to goad him into
an impossible fight. He half feared that the pirates would do something foolish
and half-hoped they would.

But
the Knight continued his speech uninterrupted.

“The
rogues travel with a small band of Renegades led by a brigand named Klye
Tristan. The commander of this very fort has met these rebels in battle. Dominic
Horcalus was at that battle.”

The
lieutenant’s eyes narrowed into mere slits as he took another step closer. “Are
you, Dominic Horcalus?”

“I
am,” he replied without hesitation.

The
lieutenant spat in his face, but still Horcalus did not move. Truth be told, he
was more stunned by the action than enraged by it.

“It
is with great pleasure,
Mister
Horcalus, that I place you and your
compatriots under arrest. My only regret is that I did not have a chance to
face you in open combat on the battlefield. I am honor-bound to accept your
surrender, but how I long to rid the world of such a disgrace to the
Knighthood!”

“In
exchange for my name, may I have yours in return?”

“Very
well. I am Sir Gaelor Petton of Fairmoor, Superius, Lieutenant of Fort Faith.”

Horcalus
was on the verge of pleading for the freedom of Arthur and the others—since it
was obvious that the Knights wanted him more than all of the others put
together—when he felt something push into him from behind. Noel emerged and
stood beside Horcalus.

At
the sight of the midge, the lieutenant took a step back, as did all of the
other Knights.

“You’re
going to arrest Klye’s friends?” The midge threw his hands up in the air, a
gesture that made all of the Knights take another hasty step back since Noel was
still holding his staff. “Now Klye will
never
leave!”

“The
midge is a Renegade,” one of the soldiers whispered.

“We
should rush him now before he gets a spell off,” added another.

Lieutenant
Petton held up a hand to silence his men. Glaring down at the midge, he said,
“You will drop your weapon too. By the prince’s decree, you are to be
arrested.”

“The
prince is evil!” Noel retorted. “He has evil powers, and he tried to kill me
with them, even though I wasn’t doing anything but checking to make sure that he
was the Prince of Superius and not some other guy.”

“So
you admit to spying on the prince,” Petton countered. “And now you are abetting
the rebels. At least we know how the Renegades got into the fort.”

“I
was only trying to help,” Noel argued. “If you hadn’t gotten in the way, we
could have come and gone by now, and nobody would’ve gotten hurt.”

Petton
snagged the midge’s arm, catching Noel—and Horcalus—by surprise.

“Nevertheless,
by order of Prince Eliot, I am arresting you.” To the Knight behind him, Petton
added, “Someone get me something I can use for a gag.”

Noel
looked from the lieutenant to Horcalus, his round eyes wide with terror. “But
the prince is
evil
!”

The
midge pulled away from his captor but could not dislodge himself from Petton’s
iron grip. The Knight turned to his men, waiting for a gag and some rope. “Yes,
yes,” he muttered. “Everyone is a sorcerer in disguise. First, it was Albert
Simplington. Now, the prince.”

Horcalus
was astonished that he felt sorry for the midge. Seeing Noel struggle in vain
to free himself from his considerably larger adversary and hearing the midge
all but whimper in fear of being bound and gagged, Horcalus felt something
inside of him give way.

For
all his faults, Noel was doing what he thought was right. Klye had more or less
tricked him into complicity. He did not deserve to be punished.

“Why
doesn’t anyone ever believe me?” Noel asked, his lip trembling.

Horcalus
grabbed the midge’s other arm. “This midge is not with us. He is no Renegade.”

“Unhand
him,” Petton growled, spinning around and resting the tip of his broadsword
against Horcalus’s chest.

“
Opal
will believe me!” Noel said suddenly.

But
no one was listening to him. The eyes of Knights and Renegades alike were
locked on Petton and Horcalus, who could not bring himself to release Noel’s
arm. The lies Petton had spoken about Ragellan echoed in his ears. He was tired
of the Knighthood’s hypocrisy, fed up with its mockery of justice.

Out
of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur raise his hatchet. Likewise, the
pirates braced for the inevitable clash, their curved blades out and ready.

“I
said let him go, traitor!” Petton shouted, giving Noel, the unwilling rope in
the impromptu game of tug-of-war, a sharp pull.

Horcalus
didn’t relinquish his grip. He would not give an inch to the self-righteous
lieutenant. Between the two knights, Noel, whose feet no longer touched the
floor, muttered words Horcalus could not hear.

“I’ll
have no more of this, Ren—”

Before
he could finish, all three of them—Petton, Horcalus, and Noel—disappeared in a
brilliant flash of light.

*
         
*
         
*

Colt
had not seen the prince smile once since his arrival, but the face Eliot was
making now made his previous scowls seem warm by comparison. The guards on
either side of the prince also wore expressions of unadulterated malice.

“A
dwarf,” Eliot repeated, glaring openly at Cholk, who glared back but said
nothing.

“Prince
Eliot,” Colt began, his voice almost cracking, “may I introduce you to—”

“First
a midge. Now a dwarf. Are you the keeper of a zoo or the commander of a fort?”

The
prince aimed his glare at Colt, who felt no taller than a gnome under the
seething scrutiny of the Prince of Superius. He opened his mouth to say
whatever might come out—hopefully something in his defense—but no sound flowed
forth. Bereft of thought and speech, he could only return the prince’s look of
pure rage with one of horrified bafflement.

“I
want this creature removed from my presence,” the prince said. “Immediately!”

“But,
Your Majesty,” Colt finally managed to say, though he was quickly silenced when
Eliot emerged behind the desk, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Get
him out of here!” the prince roared, and when Colt continued staring at him
stupidly, Eliot added, “Do you dare defy me, Commander?”

“No
one is defying you, Prince,” Cholk said. “I’m all too happy to leave.”