Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

Although
DeGrange was dodging concrete facts—for there were few enough of those when it
came to the secretive rebels—he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Most
everyone, including Crofton Beryl, believed that Leslie was somehow involved
with the Renegades. Several decrees concerning Leslie Beryl had been read to
the citizens of Port Town, encouraging them to share any information they might
have about her.

Some
of the latest announcements added clauses like “should any harm come to the
mayor’s daughter, it will not be held against her captor” as well as “the
captor will receive his reward even in the unfortunate event of her death.”

How
long before Crofton hired professional bounty hunters to find her? DeGrange thought.
Or maybe he had already. The mayor had ordered the Three Guards to keep an
extra look out for her and the other Renegades whose identities were known.

Leslie
was to be taken through any means possible. Capturing her alive was preferred,
but if that wasn’t possible…

DeGrange
shivered, wondering again what had happened to the Crofton Beryl he had known
upon first being promoted to Captain of the Three Guards. He realized he pitied
the mayor more than he despised him. Between his wife’s dying of a strange
sickness a year ago and the audacity of the local Renegades, the mayor’s
strictness could perhaps be forgiven.

That
didn’t mean, however, that DeGrange had to like the man.

He
bade Arthur of Hylan a goodnight when they reached the ugly building so many of
the dockhands called home. The gray, three-story structure had once been used
as a hospital, but it had been evacuated not long after the Thanatan Conflict,
after the last victim of a deadly plague had perished.

Instead
of burning the hospital down, as perhaps he should have done, the mayor at that
time had asked healers to purge the sickness from the place. As the story goes,
the healers did what they could to purify the hospital, but the townspeople
refused to go there anymore, and a new hospital was erected on the other side
of town.

Many
years later, Crofton Beryl had decided to convert the abandoned hospital into
living quarters for the dockhands, for surely the place was safe by then. And
yet, as DeGrange watched the boy disappear into the building—its walls nothing
more than bare, weathered wood—he could almost smell the stench of sickness.

Wrinkling
his nose, DeGrange turned and continued on in the direction of his own house,
which was nestled among the dwellings of Port Town’s middle-class citizens just
southeast of the city’s Square. He hoped his family wasn’t too worried about
him. After nine years as the Captain of the Three Guards and countless years as
a city guardsman before that, DeGrange knew his wife was all too accustomed to
his unpredictably late nights.

Though
he found the dark, empty streets of Port Town somewhat calming, he couldn’t
forget the pirate ships that threatened the safety of his family, friends, and
the city he loved. As he neared his neighborhood, he thanked the gods for
protecting him and his family.

DeGrange
also thanked them that his daughter, unlike Leslie Beryl, was content to busy
herself with knitting needles instead of swords and daggers.

*
         
*
         
*

Othello
blinked rapidly, and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The hallway was almost
pitch black, but a small amount of light from ahead provided some illumination,
enough for him to see that while grandiose on the outside, the Cathedral was
not as well kept on the inside, at least not down there.

Spider
webs clung to the low beams of the ceiling, under which he was forced to duck.
He saw rat droppings scattered here and there on the floor. The plaster on the
walls was peeling. Breathing mostly through his mouth so the dust wouldn’t
irritate his nose, he nevertheless could smell the stale air around him.

Othello
glanced behind him every now and again to be sure they were not being followed.
He had no faith in the priest’s promise that they were safe, here or anywhere.
He had survived, living alone in the wilderness, by keeping his wits about him
and never allowing his five senses a moment’s reprieve—even when he slept.

If
someone were to ambush them from behind, Othello would see their assailant as
soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He would probably hear someone
coming long before that. This did not assuage his unease in the least, cramped
in the tight corridor and bereft of his longbow to boot.

Othello
doubted he and his companions would be able to fight off even a single
well-armed adversary in their current position.

There
were doors that presumably led to small rooms on either side of the hallway.
Most of them looked as though they hadn’t been opened in centuries, but the
doorknobs on a couple of them were free of dust. Since no light shone from
under these doors, he presumed the rooms were empty.

The
corridor did not twist or turn. Up ahead, past Plake, Klye, and the priest, he
saw it ended with a set of double doors that were outlined by a light from the
other side. He felt the pace of the others quicken in anticipation of leaving
the darkness behind, heard Plake cursing under his breath.

Once
they reached the double doors, the priest knocked twice, and though he had not
used much force, the sound echoed down the tunnel-like corridor. He saw that
Klye’s hand rested on his hip, as though he might draw his dagger through the
very fabric of his robe if danger presented itself. Plake shifted his weight
from one leg to the other.

He
heard a woman’s voice, muffled, say something from the other side of the doors.

“You
have visitors,” the priest called to her, heedless the thick, wooden barrier
between them.

The
woman said something in reply. A full minute passed before Othello heard
movement from the room and saw two shadows—made by somebody’s feet—blocking the
light beneath the door.

As
the doors opened, he closed his eyes so as not to be blinded. Looking back
where they had come, Othello squinted and blinked repeatedly to acquaint his
eyes with the new level of light, which, while not terribly bright, now seemed
to be as radiant as the sun by comparison.

While
Klye and Plake rubbed their eyes, Othello noted it was a man, not a woman, who
had opened the door. As surely as the light had handicapped his companions, the
darkness of the hallway hindered the man’s vision. Squinting and blinking, the
man brushed past them, hardly sparing them a glance.

Othello
did more than glance, taking in the stranger’s blue eyes, thin lips, and a clef
chin that was covered in bluish-black stubble. Turning to watch him stagger
down the hall, Othello saw that the man wore loose-fitting trousers and a faded
striped shirt. When the man finally found the steps by tripping up the
bottommost stair, he swore and quickly vanished from sight.

Now
Othello turned his attention to what was going on in front of him. The priest
introduced them to whoever remained inside the room, which appeared smaller
than he had imagined, and gestured for them to enter. Klye led the way, and
Plake followed, all but dragging his feet.

Giving
the priest a final, appraising look, Othello walked past him and into the room.

“Gentlemen,”
the priest said, “I present to you Leslie Beryl.”

Then
the priest shut the door, and they were alone with the Renegade Leader of Port
Town.

Passage V

Leslie
Beryl sat up straighter when the three men entered her office.

She
had never seen them before or heard the names Elezar gave. She watched the
first man who entered, watched his face as he noticed her sitting behind the
large desk. She could tell by the way his eyes widened slightly that not only
he had never seen her before either, but also that she was not quite what he
had expected.

Well,
she was used to that. Many newcomers were taken aback at her appearance,
thinking that because she was the daughter of a mayor, she would wear finely
tailored garments, and not the loose-fitting garb preferred by mariners. Also,
since she was only twenty-two, Leslie had dealt with more than a few people who
thought her too young to be a capable Renegade Leader.

Leslie
wasn’t terribly disappointed by the black-haired man’s reaction, though she was
impressed with how quickly he hid his surprise. She said nothing as he and a
younger man with brown hair helped themselves to the chairs on the other side
of her desk, leaving the tall one to stand by the door.

“What
can I do for you, boys?” She was much too busy to be bothering with unexpected
visitors, though she was curious in spite of herself. Who were these men in
brown robes?

It
was the black-haired man, apparently the group’s spokesman, who answered her.
“We were told that you are the Renegade Leader of Port Town.”

“I
am,” she replied, meeting his hard, blue-eyed stare. There was something about
the man, an implied arrogance or the way he had quickly buried his first impression
of her, that now rubbed Leslie the wrong way. It had been a long day, and she
was eager to be rid of them all. “Look, if you three are interested in joining
Port Town’s Renegades, I can give you the name of someone who will decide where
your individual talents would be best put to use. I don’t typically get
involved with the initiation of new—”

“No
offense, lady,” interrupted the same man who had spoken before, “but we have
better things to do than sit around Port Town. We’re not desperate street thugs
out for a quick coin. I, too, am a Renegade Leader.”

Leslie
leaned back in her chair, wishing she had paid more attention when they had
been introduced. She couldn’t remember what Elezar had called this
self-pronounced Renegade Leader.

She
had never come face to face with a peer. Typically, a Renegade Leader was too
busy to leave his city and, therefore, sent a letter by messenger. She felt
that his breech in this etiquette could not be a good thing. Even if this man
wasn’t here to try to usurp her authority—as Renegade Leaders were known to
do—his business here was sure to complicate her already busy life.

At
the very least, this visit would keep her up later than planned, and she had
been up since before the sun had risen.

“Well
met, Renegade Leader,” she said coolly.

Her
first instinct was to try to impress him, to show him that she was not to be
taken advantage of, and to prove that she was every bit as good as he was at
being a Renegade Leader—probably better.

Or
she could try to intimidate him by giving him the clear message that as long as
they were in Port Town,
she
was the one in charge.

“What
do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms.

If
the man was taken aback by her bluntness, he didn’t show it. “My band and I are
bound for Fort Faith, but we are new to Capricon. Port Alexis’ Renegade Leader
told us you are our best hope for getting some help.”

Her
unease lessened somewhat. This Renegade Leader needed something from her, which
put her at an advantage. “And what kind of help do you need?”

“As
I said, we’re new here. I know Fort Faith lies to the east, near the center of
Capricon, but I have no map or anyone in my party who is familiar with the
island.”

“To
tell you the truth, Mister…?”

“Tristan,”
he provided, “but please, call me Klye.”

“All
right. To tell you the truth, Klye, you’re about as far as you can get from
Fort Faith. You would have been better off finding a ship that docked in Port
Gust or even North Port. As it is, you have a long walk in front of you.”

“We
didn’t exactly have the time to wait for a ship to take us to those places,” he
snapped. “We boarded the first vessel we found that was headed to this island.”

Leslie
knew she had struck a nerve. He was getting defensive. She hadn’t meant to anger
him, not really. Rather than press the point, she said, “I’d be happy to
provide you with a map, but now I’m curious, Klye Tristan. Why are you
interested in an abandoned fortress in what is essentially the middle of
nowhere?”

At
first, she thought he wasn’t going to tell her. Klye kept his eyes locked on
hers. He didn’t entirely trust her, she knew, which was fine by her. She didn’t
trust him either.

Finally,
he spoke. “A company of Superian Knights has been ordered to reoccupy Fort
Faith. The Renegades in Port Alexis fear that Continae and its territories are
preparing to fight the Renegades in earnest and that they plan to deal with the
Renegades in Capricon first, using the island as an example for the Renegades
on the continent.”

She
had heard nothing of Knights bound for Fort Faith or of a full offensive
against Capricon’s Renegades. Either Klye knew something she didn’t, or he was
trying to scare her into helping him.

Knights
at Fort Faith would be yet another problem for the Renegades of Capricon. Leslie
had sent numerous messengers to the Renegades in Rydah, and while the capital
city was on the opposite coast as Port Town, those who traveled from one end of
the island to the other had little to fear once they made it past Fort
Miloásterôn. After that, the trek was more tedious than anything else, and
Leslie preferred tedious to dangerous.

Or
was something else truly afoot?

Leslie
shook her head. “The Knights are probably just tired of us Renegades coming and
going as we please when we need to cross the island.”

“Perhaps,”
Klye allowed, as though he couldn’t care less.

Before
she could ask Klye what he planned to do once he got to the fortress, the man
sitting next to him said, “We’re going to get there first and ambush the
Knights.”

Klye
gave the man a withering look.

Leslie
smirked, perversely reveling in the other Renegade Leader’s discomfort. All
throughout their talk, Klye had acted like he was in complete control, not
intimidated in the least. But his control had clearly slipped. He had not wanted
the other Renegade to say anything at all, least of all give any hints to her,
a rival.

But
that was not the only reason Leslie found herself grinning. Before the other
man had spoken, Leslie had caught Klye’s eyes exploring the low neckline of her
tunic. When their eyes met again, she knew that
he
knew he had been
caught.

“How
many men are in your band, Klye?” she asked before he could regain his
composure.

She
hit the mark with that question. Klye narrowed his eyes just slightly before
answering. “Five.”

Now
it was Leslie’s turn to be caught by surprise. “Five? You are going to confront
a company of Knights with only five men at your command?”

The
brown-haired Renegade spoke again. “It’s five,
including
Klye. But we do
have two—”

“Shut
up, Plake.” Klye interrupted, never taking his eyes off of hers. “We are only
five, but we have been underestimated before, Miss Beryl.”

Unless
Klye had two spell-casters in his band, she couldn’t guess how he planned to
hold out against even a small squadron of Knights of Superius. In all
likelihood, he and his men would be killed to a man.

Looking
into his eyes, however, Leslie could not bring herself to believe that Klye
Tristan was a fool.

“Please,
call me Leslie,” she told him after a moment. She knew that it was not her
place to mock him…though what had he said about sitting around Port Town?

“Your
plans are no business of mine,” she continued. “I can give you a map, but I
think you would benefit more from a guide. If you’re interested, I know just
the man for the job. As it so happens, he’ll be here at noon tomorrow. You may
come and meet him then, if you’d like.”

Klye
studied her for a few seconds, leaving her to wonder what was going on behind
those eyes of his, which had not strayed from hers since she had caught them
wandering earlier.

Finally,
he said, “All right. I’ll come back tomorrow. Thank you for your time,
Miss…Leslie. Good night.”

She
said nothing as she watched them leave her office. The tall man by the door was
the last to go, and suddenly Leslie realized that she had forgotten all about
him during the meeting. After the door closed, she replayed the conversation
over in her mind. She had learned very little about Klye, his men, and their
mission, but she could find out more tomorrow.

And
if she had someone go with them to Fort Faith, she’d learn a whole lot more…

Remembering
how Klye’s eyes had lingered on her breasts, she smirked again. Then she shook
her head, cursed herself for a moony maiden, and decided she had better get
some sleep.

She
had enough trouble in her life without Klye Tristan and his fool’s errand
occupying her thoughts.

*
         
*
         
*

Ragellan
was starting to worry about Klye and the others. A mostly full moon was peeking
through the room’s sole window, and he found himself staring out at it as his
thoughts wandered.

He
and Horcalus had spent much of the night reminiscing about their days at Fort
Splendor in Superius, where Chester Ragellan had served as the fort’s
commander. Now Horcalus was asleep, which was just as well. Horcalus hadn’t
slept much the past few weeks. Surely, he was exhausted.

At
first, Ragellan had thought the man’s restlessness was due to the perpetual
swaying motion of the ship or a crisis of conscience, but now he wasn’t so
sure. He feared their time in the Citadel Dungeon had infected Horcalus with a
fear of closed-in spaces. Whatever ailed him, Dominic Horcalus suffered in
silence.

Once
Horcalus had dozed off, Ragellan had little else to do but think. Mostly, his
mind was drawn to the past.

Ragellan
had not thought much of the Renegades in the beginning. The rebels began
sprouting up all over Continae in the days following the Signing of the Scroll
of Alliance. At first, they held public rallies mostly, protesting the Alliance
of Nations and trying to convince their neighbors and townsfolk that the
Alliance would inevitably diminish the glory of Superius and the rest of
Continae.

None
of the Kings of Continae gave them much thought until some of the factions
became violent.

Over
the past two years, the Renegades, realizing that their words were having no
effect on the powers that be, had grown more dependent upon the use of force to
get their point across. They sent death threats to officials who openly supported
or promoted the Alliance, looted city funds to finance their operations, and
began fighting with local militiamen and constables.

The
more radical factions attacked and sometimes even killed the occasional dwarf
or half-elf, hoping to keep more foreigners from settling in Continae.

Finally,
the Kings of Continae were forced to take the rebels seriously. The Knights of
Superius were ordered to get involved. However, not wanting the people to
panic, King Edward Borrom III commanded the Knights to bolster the defenses of
cities all across Superius. They were not to take the offensive, for there was
still a chance that the Renegades’ fire would burn itself out. The Superian
king hoped that the mere presence of Superian Knights would intimidate the rebels
into abandoning their misguided cause altogether.

But
Ragellan learned firsthand that the Renegades were not the half-hearted
rabble-rousers many mistook them for. A band of Renegades near Fort Splendor
had gone so far as to attack a supply caravan bound for his fortress. The
presence of the Superian Knights among local authorities seemed only to push
the Renegades harder, making them bolder than ever.

Even
as the rebels grew more militant, the Knights’ orders remained noncommittal and
were, at times, downright complacent in Ragellan’s opinion. Ragellan and the
other commanders from all across Superius—and Capricon, too, he supposed—were
told
not
to seek out the Renegades’ hideouts. They were to defend, but
never attack.

King
Edward was a peace-loving man. He knew that if the Knights of Superius marched
against the Renegades, whispers of a war would soon follow. A civil war in
Continae would poison the very spirit of the Alliance of Nations, which
remained in the delicate stage of infancy. But Ragellan had felt as though he
were being kept on a leash. He grew more frustrated with every encounter with
the rebels, incidents that invariably resulted in the Renegade’s safe retreat.