Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (45 page)

As
the dwarf turned to open the door, Colt studied the cracks in the floor. He
knew he was a coward for not standing up for his friend, even if it meant
confronting the Prince of Superius.

He
was still staring at the ground, feeling sorry for himself and hating Prince
Eliot with every fiber of his being, so he didn’t immediately understand what
was going on when the crash resounded through the war room. He looked to the
door and found Cholk and one of the Knights on the floor. The door was unbarred
and open.

The
blade of a sword crossed the threshold.

That
was all Colt needed to propel him into action. He ran to the door as the
Renegades forced their way into the chamber. He recognized the woman with the
steel-piercing sword. His gaze passed over two male Renegades but stopped at
the one carrying a longbow.

Colt
glanced back at the prince, worried that Eliot Borrom would be an easy target
for the archer, but the prince’s two bodyguards had positioned themselves
firmly in front of the prince, acting as a living barrier to any missile. They
carried shields, but neither man seemed to know the proper way to hold them.

Standing
midway between the prince and the rebels, Colt debated whether he ought to
charge forward or fall back. The enemy numbered a measly four, and while he
calculated his Knights’ worth to be at least twice that of any Renegade, he
suddenly knew where he was needed most.

The
blond-haired woman, her enchanted blade a whirl of metallic light, had already
disarmed one of the Knights and had wounded another.

Chrysaal-rûn
in hand, Colt
ran forward, praying to the Warriorlord to empower his weapon. The crystal
sword had stood up to the female Renegade’s blade once. It would have to do so
again, or all was lost.

Focused
solely on the woman, Colt saw the blur of movement coming from the side barely
in time to react. His own shield having been destroyed in his previous clash
with the rebels, Colt wielded an old buckler he had found in the fort’s armory.
Instinctively he brought up the shield in a desperate attempt to defend
himself, awkwardly twisting his body in order to bring the buckler in line with
the anticipated attack.

Colt
waited for the brunt of a falling sword and was considerably surprised when his
attacker rammed into the shield with his shoulder, throwing all of the inertia
of his charge into the collision. With no hope of maintaining his balance,
which had been precarious at best, Colt went with the blow, rolling over two
full times on the floor before coming to a stop.

He
was climbing to his feet when he felt the tip of a sword against his neck. With
none-too-gentle pressure, the blade guided Colt’s chin upward, forced him to
look at his attacker. The man with the rapier at his throat had black hair and
blue eyes. He wore a long, dark coat that looked as worn and weathered as its
owner, whose unshaven face was slick with sweat.

Although
his assailant was but a few years older than he, Colt knew he had finally come
face to face with Klye Tristan.

Colt
glared up at the monster who had carried Opal away. The Renegade Leader,
meanwhile, searched the ground for something, and Colt’s heart sank when he
realized what that something was.

The
tip of the rapier pressing painfully into his skin, Colt could do nothing but
watch impotently as Klye reached for
Chrysaal-rûn
. The Renegade Leader
snatched up the treasured weapon in one swift motion.

But
then the Renegade Leader dropped the crystal sword with a loud cry. Not
questioning his fortune, Colt knocked the rapier’s blade aside with his
gauntleted hand and scooped up
Chrysaal-rûn
. An instant later, the two
men adopted battle-ready stances, Colt gripping the crystal sword with two
hands and Klye Tristan holding the rapier in his right.

As
they circled each other, Colt saw that the Renegade Leader was shaking his left
hand vigorously, clenching and unclenching his fingers. A grimace betrayed his
great pain.

Colt
was on the verge of pressing forward when an arrow whizzed by, sailing
perilously near both of their heads. A gurgling shriek made Colt flinch. In
spite of himself, he looked back in the prince’s direction, where one of the
bodyguards thrashed about on the ground, a shaft protruding from his throat.

Colt
whirled back around in time to see Klye Tristan sneak past him on the other
side. He swung
Chrysaal-rûn
in a wide arc, hoping to make contact with
one of the Renegade Leader’s legs, but the man was too quick. The crystal sword
missed its fleshy target entirely and bit instead into the stony floor. Colt
made to follow the Renegade Leader, but when he tried to run after him, he
nearly wrenched his arm out of its socket.

Colt
looked behind him, fully expecting to find his arm held fast by nothing less
than an ogre. But no one was making a play for his sword this time—no living
opponent at any rate. Somehow Colt had managed to bury the crystalline blade
halfway into the floor;
Chrysaal-rûn
had cleaved solid stone!

He
heaved with all his might and finally managed to dislodge the blade. Sparing
only a quick glance back at Cholk and the three Knights to make sure they were
all still alive, Colt hurried after Klye Tristan, who was already going sword
to sword with the prince’s remaining guard.

Passage XVI

Klye
cast one quick glance over his shoulder before he reached his newest
opponent—the only remaining guard between him and Prince Eliot. He knew that
the Knight with the crystal sword would be on him again in a matter of seconds,
but he had to press forward. If he could only get to the prince, put his blade
up to the young man’s neck, he would gain absolute control of the situation.

But
first, he had to deal with the bodyguard.

With
barely a glance at his fallen comrade, who was making a feeble attempt to
dislodge Othello’s arrow from his windpipe, the second bodyguard charged
forward with a roar. Having thrown his shield aside—a most curious move, in
Klye’s opinion—the guard now held his sword in both hands, poised above his
head, as though he planned to hew Klye down the middle.

Klye
was tempted to try to score a hit of his own before the blade fell, but at the
last second, he dug in his heels, stopped, and watched the silver blur come
within inches of his face. When the guard’s sword struck the floor, Klye lashed
out with his rapier. The guard was forced to leap backward in order to avoid
the blade.

He
pressed on, slashing out at the guard’s midsection. The guard had no choice but
to give ground, but as he did, he regained his balance and his bearing. After a
few steps, the guard managed a few swing with his own sword, but Klye wouldn’t
allow the man to gain the advantage. He studied his opponent’s movements,
concluding that while the guard and he were of similar height and build, he was
the faster.

When
the guard parried one of Klye’s wild swings, he conceded Eliot’s bodyguard was
the stronger and, likely, more experienced in dueling. Klye was now the one
taking generous steps backward in order to avoid getting skewered.

He
had to do something definitive, something
drastic
that would dispatch
his foe before the Knight with the magical blade reappeared. Klye feinted
right, making his opponent believe he was going to once again dodge the
horizontal slash, but at the last second, he pressed forward, driving his
shoulder into the guard’s chest. Klye blindly swung his rapier at the oncoming
attack, hoping he might, at the very least, deflect the guard’s sword away from
any vital areas.

Several
things happened at once…

The
guard, severely off-balance, tripped over his own feet and fell onto his back.
Klye nearly fell on top of him but somehow maintained his footing. Meanwhile,
Klye’s rapier missed the broadsword entirely, and the blade bit deep into his
left shoulder.

But
rather than strike metal, Klye’s rapier found flesh. With a clang, the
broadsword fell to the floor—along with the hand that had been holding it. The
guard shrieked and clutched his bleeding stump.

Klye
sucked in air through clenched teeth. Tears filled his eyes from the burning
pain in his shoulder, but before he could do much of anything, the one-handed
guard sprang up from the ground, his face contorted in a horrible expression of
pain and rage. Klye had just enough time to bring the rapier back up and brace
for impact.

The
next thing he knew, he was lying on his back with something wet and heavy
crushing the air from his lungs. With a great heave, Klye pushed the guard off
of him and climbed to his feet, fully expecting his opponent to do the same.

The
man did not move. Dark blood gushed from where the rapier had pierced his
heart.

Feeling
dizzy, Klye took a step back. He had not wanted to kill the man, but that
couldn’t be helped now. Tearing his eyes away from the fountain of thick, black
blood, Klye swallowed his regret and reminded himself of the importance of what
he—and his Renegades—were doing.

The
prince was only a few feet away, and as Klye cleared the distance, Eliot Borrom
unhurriedly, almost leisurely, drew a long, slightly curved sword from the
sheath at his hip. Though younger than Klye, Eliot did not appear to be a
helpless, fearful youth. On the contrary, the prince looked composed,
confident, and eager.

“I
don’t want to hurt you,” Klye told the prince. “If you cooperate, I promise—”

“You’ve
made a terrible mistake,” Eliot Borrom said. The tip of his saber was aimed at
the floor, but the glint in the man’s eye and the way he carried himself told
Klye the prince would not be caught unawares. “You are Klye Tristan, I
presume?”

“I
am.” He stole another glance at the Knight with the enchanted blade. Klye was
safe—for the moment at least—because he was trading blows with Lilac.

“A
pity,” the prince said. “I would have rather been pitted against Chester
Ragellan or Dominic Horcalus, but you will do, Renegade Leader. In retrospect,
you were the start of all of this. After all, it was you who you rescued the
rogue knights from the Citadel Dungeon. I shall enjoy killing you.”

Klye
was more than a little disconcerted by how much the prince knew of him and his
band—though nothing about Ragellan’s death, apparently—but he would not let
Eliot’s chatter distract him. He and the prince circled each other, both
waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Today,
I will ensure that you and your little band will do nothing to thwart my
plans,” the prince taunted. “Today, I accomplish what my assassins could not.”

The
prince’s words struck Klye like a punch to the gut. Eliot Borrom knew about
Dark Lily and the
sai-morí
. He had probably hired them himself. Hate and
anger, the likes of which Klye had never felt before, churned in his stomach.

He
didn’t know why Eliot Borrom wanted Horcalus and the rest of them dead, but of
this he was certain: through some stroke of fate, he was being given the chance
to avenge his Ragellan’s death.

“You
are the one who has erred,” Klye said, his voice soft and steady. “I have
nothing to lose and everything to gain, while you stand to lose it all.”

Eliot
let out a howl that was half-jeer and half-battle cry before rushing him. Klye
darted to his left, narrowly escaping the tip of the saber. The prince’s
offense was ruthless. A series of well-placed slashes and thrusts kept Klye
unbalanced and unable to risk a counterattack.

It
was all Klye could do to remain on his feet while—not to mention keep his head
attached to his body. One bold swing of the saber would have decapitated him,
but Klye dove beneath the whir of steel. A second horizontal slash forced Klye
to crouch even lower.

The
saber sailed harmlessly over his head, but already Eliot was readying himself
to come in with a thrust that would pin Klye to the wall.

With
nowhere else to retreat, Klye stayed down, shifting his weight to one leg while
extending the other. He focused all of his energy into the kick. His foot
connected with the prince’s knee, and Klye heard a satisfying snap. Eliot cried
out in pain, his leg buckling beneath him. The prince fell back a few steps,
nearly losing his footing entirely.

Klye
was gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles were white. Without
a moment’s hesitation, he pushed off the wall, springing at his injured
opponent. He was no longer fighting the Crown Prince of Superius, but
Ragellan’s murderer.

With
a single thought on his mind, Klye lunged.

But
suddenly there was someone between him and the prince. Klye tried to stop but
couldn’t. He collided with the Knight with all the grace of an avalanche. The
Knight, who had had both feet planted firmly on the ground, grunted at the
impact. Then he shoved Klye back against the wall and swung his sword with both
hands.

Two
pieces of rapier skidded across the floor. Klye, desperately drawing breaths to
replace the air that had been knocked out of him, sat with his back up against
the wall and looked into the eyes of the man with the magical sword.

The
tip of that spectacular weapon hovered less than an inch from his throat. Klye
had a dagger tucked in his boot, but there was no way to reach it without the
Knight seeing. The thought occurred to him that he might bat the crystalline
blade away with one hand while drawing his knife with the other, but the
blisters on his left hand and his broken rapier reminded him that this was no
ordinary sword.

There
was no way out. Fending off the despair that came with the realization of his
failure, Klye did the one thing that he could think of, the one thing that
would, at the very least, buy him some time.

“I
surrender!” Klye shouted, raising his hands above his head.

The
Knight with the magical sword let out a deep sigh, obviously relieved.

“No!”
cried a voice from beyond them. Prince Eliot came hobbling toward them. “This
man tried to kill me. He is a Renegade and deserves death. Run him through,
Commander!”

The
Knight—Commander Crystalus, Klye realized—looked back at the prince and then
stared into Klye’s eyes once more. Klye saw a battle raging within the
commander; it played out on his face, which twitched and frowned.

“You
can’t kill me.” Words began to pour out of his mouth, and Klye did not stop
them. Quick-talking had saved his skin time and time again. “I am unarmed and
have surrendered. You can’t kill me until after I’ve had a trial. Have you no
honor?”

Slowly,
ever so slowly, the commander drew back his sword. Klye had no idea if he was
doing this to show that his honor would not allow him to kill a helpless
opponent or to give himself some more room to swing his sword.

“Kill
him, Commander, or I will do it myself!” Eliot snarled. The prince still held
his saber, and Klye had no doubt that Eliot would keep his word.

Klye’s
gaze flashed from the prince to the commander’s unreadable countenance to the
enchanted sword. Ragellan had been slain by a magical weapon, Lilac’s vorpal
sword. Klye allowed himself a grim smile. He supposed there were worse things
than being beheaded by an unnaturally sharp blade. At least it would be over
quickly.

As
the last moments of his life slowed and stretched, Klye stared at the blade,
absently wondering if it were actually crafted from a huge diamond. It didn’t
look like any gemstone Klye had ever gotten his hands on, though. The crystal
sword’s blade resembled an icicle more than any mineral.

No,
it was clearer than ice. Klye could see right through it…

A
strangled sound escaped his lips. His head was spinning, his thoughts a
dizzying cyclone of revelation and dread. Finally, when he regained his ability
to speak, he whispered, “Commander, your sword. Look at the prince through
your
sword
.”

*
         
*
         
*

Colt
feared the Renegade Leader had lost his mind, but that was only one of the many
thoughts assailing him. What would be the consequence of defying the Prince of
Superius? Didn’t Klye Tristan, who had attacked a member of the royal family,
deserve death? But as much as he hated the man—hated the rebels one and
all—Colt couldn’t bring himself to slay the man in cold blood.

Klye’s
widened eyes remained fixed on the crystal sword. Colt sneaked a glance at
Chrysaal-rûn
,
thinking perhaps the blade was glowing blue again. It wasn’t. Maybe the
Renegade Leader had gone mad. Or maybe he was trying to divert his attention.

But
no man could feign the look of awe and fear on Klye’s face.

With
a sigh, Colt humored the man. He turned and peered through the transparent
blade, following Klye’s gaze.

And
then it was Colt’s turn to gasp.

“What
are you staring at?” Prince Eliot demanded. “Never mind, coward. I will
exterminate this pest myself.”

Before
Colt realized what he was doing, he stepped in front of the prince and knocked
his saber aside with the flat of
Chrysaal-rûn
’s blade.

“What
do you think—?”

“Who
are you?” Colt almost did not recognize his own voice.

“Commander,
have you lost your—”

“When
I look through the crystal sword, I see a monster in your place,” Colt stated,
his voice growing louder. “Who are you!”

Colt
heard Klye rise behind him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the false face
of Eliot Borrom.

“He’s
a goblin,” Klye said, coming to stand beside him. “My band encountered goblins
in Port Town and near the town of Pillars. I don’t know what they’re up to, but
I’d wager a dragon’s hoard this one is in charge of them all.”

Eliot
shook his head as if to deny it, but when his shifty eyes made contact with
Colt’s, he revealed a toothy smile that obliterated all pretenses of innocence.
“Congratulations, gentlemen, you are the first to see through my disguise.”

“Where
is the true prince?” Colt pressed. He felt at once relieved that this cruel
Eliot Borrom was an imposter and terrified by the ramifications of such a ruse.

“Oh,
I am a true prince,” the goblin replied, still smiling “You stand before Prince
T’slect of T’Ruel.”